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THE BOYNE OBELISK. 










THE 


OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE; 


OR, 


RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH BOROUGH. 


By MRS. J. SADLIER, 


4CTHORESSOF “BLARES AND FLANAGANS',” “ WUXIE BURKE;” “lU# 
lights;” “ THE confederate CHIEFTAINS ;” " ELINOR PRESTON 
“BESST CONWAY ;” “THE CONFESSIONS OF AN APOSTATE ;” “CON 
O'REGAN ;” “OLD AND NEW ;” “ iHE HERMIT OF THE ROCK.” 


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NEW YORK: 

D. & J SADLIER & CO., 31 BARCLAY STREET 

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VOVTRKAL COR. NOTBK DAME AKD ST. FRANCIS XAVIBR 


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aatered accortUng to Act of Congress, In the year liM, *7 
D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for Um 
S outhern District of New York. 

OIFT 

®KftTRAM SMITH 


Stmotjrp«<l by yiNCBNT DILL, 

No. 34 Beekman St., N. T. 


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DEDICATION. 


To those of my many Drogheda friends whom 
the reaper Death, and the vicissitudes of twenty 
years have left remaining amid the historic scenes 
I have here faintly sketched — and also to the me- 
mory of those others who have long since passed to 
the unseen world — in token of my undying remem- 
brance of the pleasant days, and weeks, and months 
spent amongst them in the sunny years of my life’s 
spring-time, these few “ Reminiscences ” of their 
ancient and honored borough are cordially and 
gratefully dedicated. 


Nkw York, June, 1866. 


M. A. S. 




THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE; 

OR, 

RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH BOROUGH. 


CHAPTER I. 

Let people say what they will of modern improve- 
ments, and the advantages of modern progress, there 
are few amongst us who do not love to contemplate 
the relics of past ages, monuments of a time, or times 
long anterior to the rise of “ modern progress,” and 
boasting none of the “ modern improvements.” Few 
American-born readers can realize to themselves the 
antique character of an old European town dating 
from the medieval times, the quaint, queer, yet simple 
and substantial edifices of the older parts contrasting 
oddly with the newer and more ornamentative portions, 
the growth of later years. Comparatively few of 
these old fortified boroughs are now to be seen in the 
British islands, at least, in anything like their original 
aspect. Of those which still arrest the traveller’s at- 
tention in journeying through Ireland, one of the old- 


!0 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


est and quaintest of the ancient ‘‘ walled towns' is 
undoubtedly Drogheda, for more ages than history 
cares to count a place of foreign and domestic import- 
ance, and now favorably known amongst Irish sea- 
ports as a commercial and manufacturing tov/n se- 
cond to none of its size in the kingdom. Situated on 
the Boyne River, but two or three miles from the 
Irish Sea, partly in Louth and partly in Meath, two 
of the richest and most fertile counties in Ireland, 
Drogheda enjoys to-day as great advantages for trade 
and commerce as of old it did for the maritime de- 
fence of the surrounding district. Of the strong 
walls and fortifications that once encompassed the old 
borough little now remains, but that little serves to 
show how well the stout burghers of Drogheda (or 
Tredagh^ as it was anciently called) knew how to 
protect their hearths and homes. Detached portions 
of the walls are still to be seen here and there, espe- 
cially in the neighborhood of St. Mary’s Church in 
the south-eastern part of the town, where within the 
limits of the ancient graveyard a strong bastion 
speaks to the new generation of the days when Crom- 
well’s cannon thundered on the adjoining walls, and 
there made the breach (still shown) by which that 
monster of cruelty poured his iron-hearted psalm- 
singers into the town to butcher the inhabitants 
without mercy. Then looking eastward towards the 
sea, on the highest ground north of the river, rises 
still in formidable strength, with its two flanking 
towers, St Lawrence’s Gate, looking down in gloomy 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


11 


grandeur over the steep and narrow street whicn 
bears its name, guarding the approach to the Tholsel, 
or Town Hall, which stands near the junction of 
Lawrence street and West street with Shop street 
and Peter street; the latter two forming the line 
from the bridge to the Horth Barracks and St. Peter’s 
Church, ever memorable as the scene of the burning 
of over two thousand of the first citizens of Drogh- 
eda (who had taken shelter within it) by order of 
Oliver Cromwell. The West Gate at the opposite 
extremity of the town has all but disappeared in the 
lapse of time, and so, too, with Sunday Gate, the 
northern approach to the old borough in the days of 
its primeval strength. 

Here and there within the ancient boundaries may 
still be seen the remains of many civil, ecclesiastical 
and monastic buildings of the old time, such as Mary’g 
Abbey, a Carmelite foundation near the modern 
church of that name already mentioned, appropriated 
to Protestant worship, — Magdalen’s Steeple, the time- 
honored remains of a stately Dominican Church, of 
old connected with an Abbey of the same order. 
Then, just within the West Gate, stand the ruins of 
an oM Observantine friary, called “The Old Abbey.” 
The dilapidated remains of the Grey Friary form a 
picturesque object on the high ground in the north- 
eastern part of the town, and on tlie south side, but 
a short distance from the river, some faint traces may 
still be seen of what was once a Priory and Hospital 
of the Knights of St. John. Other relics of the mon- 


12 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE.* 


astic institutions of long-past ages are still to be seen 
in various parts of the town, but in a state of such 
utter dilapidation as only to be distinguished on a 
near approach. One of these is the old friary of St 
Lawrence, a little way outside Lawrence’s Gate, sur- 
rounded by a very ancient burying-ground called 
“The Cord” — a singular designation, the origin of 
which is now lost in the night of time.* 

The Tholsel itself, a gloomy, dark-faced building, 
situate in West street, near the corner of Shop street, 
is a curious, but by no means attractive specimen of 
the civdl architecture of the Middle Ages, and no one 
can look on its massive stone walls, and deeply-set win- 
dows, without reverting in thought to the stormy 
strife of those by-past times, and the sturdy burgesses 
who of old assembled for “ law and justice” within its 
walls. 

Antiquity is, indeed, stamped on the town and all 
around it, but there is scarcely any locality, any nook 
or corner within or without the walls where modern 
buildings, civil, military, commercial and ecclesiasti- 
cal, are not to be seen rising up in strange contrast to 
the hoary monuments around them, striking illustra- 

* One of our earliest recollections of Drogheda was the peril- 
ous ascent, from an adjoining tombstone, of the jagged frag- 
ment of wall which alone remains of the old friary, in order to 
procure a branch of the ivy that festoons its top, to bear back 
in triumph to our home away north in “ green vallied Breffny,’' 
as a momento of our first visit to the old historic borough. 
The sunshine was bright that summer morning, clothing even 
the old gray ruin and its ivy crown vdth solemn beauty. 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


13 


lions, one and the other, of the busy, active, progres- 
Bive Present, and the calm, sluggish, stern, mysterious 
Past. So ^to-day, and even twenty years ago, when 
last we looked on the weU-remembered scene, the 
banks of the Boyne, where it threads its way between 
two counties, through the heart of Drogheda, were 
thickly studded with spinning-mills, corn-mills, and all 
the other huge fabrics in which modern progress has 
encased the complicated machinery that does her 
mighty will in catering for man’s use and comfort. 
Barracks of spacious dimensions adorn the northern 
and southern extremities of the town; the northern 
at the head of Peter street as already indicated, the 
southern on the lofty eminence known as Mill-Mount, 
commanding from a massive circular tower on the 
fort, a magnificent view of the river, the town, and the 
adjoining country, rich in Irish fertility. Through all 
this motley assemblage of the old and the new, the civil, 
the military, the secular, and the ecclesiastical, flows 
on the silvery Boyne, dividing the northern from the 
southern portions of “ the County of the Town 
of Drogheda,” as the old records have it, and as the 
natives of the place are still proud to call it. Fraught 
with a thousand historic associations, and a wealth of 
poetry all its own, the beautiful “ bride of Lough 
Ranior” winds her way through the heart of the old 
borough to swell the waters of the Irish Sea over the 
white strand of Bettystown and Mornington. 

The town of Drogheda is decidedly an old town, 
and all is old about it. Its people are old — old in 


14 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE.# 


tlieir lineage, to a great extent Norman, — and old in 
their contempt for what is new and siiowy, and pre- 
tentious. Passing through the streets, you will re- 
cognize above the shop-doors, and on door-plates, the 
names of the knightly Norman families who were 
actors in the earliest authentic history of Drogheda — 
the De Yerdons (minus only the de), the Gernons, the 
Pentlands, the Whites, the Dardises, the Faulkners, 
the Simcocks, aud many other ancient families are still 
represented in the old borough, and the Norman is 
still the staple and dominant element in the popula- 
tion. Then, again, the simple, old-time faith of the 
townspeople has happily lost none of its positive, 
straightforward Catholicity, and Drogheda, the Gate 
of the North, is to-day what it has been ever since 
the Reformation crossed the Channel, one of the most 
thoroughly Catholic towns in Ireland. When the 
ceremonies of religion were proscribed by law in the 
northern province, and the poverty to which Ulster 
Catholics were reduced left them only thatched cabins 
wherein to worship God, the ritual of the Church was 
still carried out within the walls of Drogheda, and 
thither, as on pilgrimage, went the northern Catho- 
lics, year by year at Paschal time, to witness the reli- 
gious solemnities they might never see at home. 
Ih’ogheda was in those days, even but two genera- 
tions back, the Rome of Ulster, and happy were they 
who from Cavan, Monaghan, Fermanagh, or Armagh, 
could go to spend Holy Week in Drogheda. There 
the r»borl/»xjs communities always maintained thek 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


15 


ground, and even now the old borough has a sort of 
monastic character shared by few in Ireland, and by 
none north of itself. 

Though stripped of the wealth and power they 
once enjoyed, and thrown for support on the charity 
and piety of the townspeople, the Franciscans, the 
Dominicans, and the Augustinians still haunted the 
vicinity of their ancient Abbeys in and around the 
borough, assisting the secular clergy in ministering 
to the spiritual wants of the people, and in return for 
the shelter and protection afforded them, within the 
strong old town, and the pious offerings of the faith- 
ful which supplied their humble wants, “ the friars” 
gave their benison to the place, and whilst edifying 
the people by their simple and useful lives and the 
practice of all virtue, they perpetuated amongst them 
that spirit of piety, and those genuine Catholic in- 
stincts which made Drogheda the good old Catholic 
town that we have described it. 

Amongst such a people, and in such a place, it may 
well be supposed that old social customs, too, would 
survive the lapse of time, in defiance of modern in- 
novation. Such is really the case, and, perhaps, 
with the single exception of Galway, no other city or 
town in Ireland retains so many of the old-time cus- 
toms, or so much of the good old cheerful spirit in 
which they had their origin. With some of these 
peculiarities the reader will make acquaintance in the 
course of our simple story, to which we must now 
address ourselves, having sufficiently (as we hope) 


16 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

indicated the manner of place where its scene is 
laid. 

Some twenty years ago there stood (and may still, 
for aught we know) on the steep shore of the Boyne, 
just over the Bettystown road which winds close by 
the river side, an old gray house whose venerable 
front was thinly shaded by a few spreading trees; 
chiefly ash and sycamore, whose growth appeared to 
have been coeval with the house itself, judging by 
their brown gnarled branches and the grotesque 
forms their trunks had assumed in the lapse of years. 
A long flight of narrow stone steps led from the low 
porch with its two rustic benches to the road and the 
river, by a wicket gate opening on the green margined 
footpath that skirts “the dusty highway.” A some- 
what dilapidated stone wall ran along the base of the 
almost precipitous slope in front of the house, and a 
sort of straggling fence of flowering shrubs ran up the 
steep ascent in parallel lines on either side the steps. 
Here and there from amid the sparse herbage rose a 
stunted white-thorn, a prickly furze, or a laurel — the 
shining green of the latter contrasting well in sum- 
mer’s brief day with the delicate white blossoms of 
the one and the rich yellow of the other, and in win- 
ter giving life to the bleak hillside where only the 
hardy evergreen could live. The house that crowned 
the steep was as old and as weather-beaten as house 
could be, and be inhabited with comfort. It consisted 
of two stories, surmounted by a high pitched roof of 
elates, which might, from their appearance, have dated 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 17 

from that very indefinite period “ the Wars of Ire* 
land,” yet whole and sound withal, as though neglect, 
at least, had not aided the work of time in defacing and 
disfiguring the old fabric. The windows were few 
high, and narrow, with the quaintest of old archi- 
traves, and leaden casements with small lozenge-shaped 
panes that seemed as if meant to exclude as much of 
the sunlight as possible from the interior of the man- 
sion — for mansion it was, though not a large one. 
The hall-door was of dark oak curiously panelled, 
and, like the windows, deeply set in the massive stone 
wall. It was a gloomy dwelling, as one would say on 
a first glance, and yet there was that about it which 
invited a closer examination, and suggested a certain 
degree of curiosity as to who might be its inmates. 
People are apt to associate mystery and romance 
with old houses, if only they look like having “ a 
history,” and this one did, though the building and 
all about it had little claim to beauty, and not much 
to taste or elegance. Sombre and somewhat stately, 
it looked, in its dark decay, like what it was, the an- 
cestral home of a family that had once held high place 
amongst the old N’orman settlers on the Boyne side, 
impoverished now and of small account amongst the 
thriving, money-making burghers of the new age. 

It is late autumn ; the short day is drawing to a 
close, and the lights are coming out in the town and 
along the river, the wind is blowing from the sea, 
and dark masses of clouds are drifting over the firma- 
ment, whose blue is still seen at intervals far up in the 


18 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Benith. Dim through the gray light that was fast 
changing into darkness, might be seen a solitary female 
figure ascending the steps to our old house, with the 
quick elastic foot of youth, her figure wrapped in a 
gray cloak, the hood of which was thrown over her 
head and drawn closely around her face. Reaching 
the door, she paused a moment, as though aiTanging 
something in her mind, then raised her hand to the 
grim black knocker representing a grotesque human 
face, and knocked as one who should be speedily admit- 
ted, smiling at some quaint conceit as the sound re- 
verberated in hollow echoes through the old man- 
sion. 

“ Thank God I” said, in a subdued voice, the old 
woman, who, with candle in hand, came to the door. 
“ Thank God you’re come back safe. Miss Rose 1 
Dear me ! if there isn’t the candle gone out I” 

“ Safe ! why should I not come back safe ? What 
did you suppose was going to happen to me ?” 

“ Oh ! then, it’s hard to say. Miss, hard to say I it’s ill 
walkin’ at nightfall out of doors, and Baltray is a wild 
place, at the best. But wait a minute. Miss, till I go 
and light the candle.” 

A merry laugh was the lady’s answer as she tripped 
along the flagged hall, and opened a door at the fur- 
ther end, from which a warm cheerful glow streamed 
out for a moment on the dark walls. 

“ The Lord save us !” muttered old Nancy, as she 
groped her way through a smaller passage branching 
off from the hall to the rear portion of the bmlding, 


THE OLD nOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


S9 


long as I’m in the place, I never can get over the 
fear of it. An’ to see Miss Rose there, how little she 
minds it. Dark an’ light, night an’ day, all’s one to 
her !” 

The room that Rose Ackland entered was a sort 
of parlor, large, though not lofty, and scantly, but com- 
fortably furnished ; the furniture being of that anti- 
quated style which might be expected in such a 
place, some of it showing but too plainly the many, 
many years it had been in use. There was no carpet 
on the dark oaken floor, with the exception of a piece 
some eight or ten feet square in front of the wide, 
grateless fireplace, in which some logs of wood were 
burning on brazen dogs, shedding that ruddy glow 
over the nearer parts of the old room which painters 
love to catch in their home-pictures. There was no 
other light in the room. Two persons sat by the 
fire ; one a gentleman advanced in years, the other a 
lady many years younger, yet no longer young, whose 
pale, subdued features looked wan in the firelight, 
yet fair and sweet withal. Her eyes were on her 
knitting, but not her thoughts, and every mome .t 
the shadow was growing deeper on her brow, when 
Rose's entrance dispelled the cloud and drew an ex- 
clamation of pleasure even from the silent old man 
whose look had been moodily fixed on the flickering 
blaze before him. A large, portly looking cat which 
had been doz-ing in luxurious ease on the arm of his 
chair roused herself, too, and bounded from her perch 
to welcome the new arrival. 


20 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ How long you staid, Rose !” said the elder lady re- 
proachlully ; “ we began to fear that something must 
be wronsT, and I could scarcely persuade your grand- 
papa from going to meet you. Indeed, my child, you 
ought to be more careful !” 

“ Careful, Aunt Lydia ! careful of what ?” said Rose^ 
as, having kissed her grandfather, and laid aside her 
cjoak and bonnet, she sat down by her matronly 
aunt, and stooped to fondle the dignified tabby who 
was rubbing against her skirts, purring her welcome 
home. 

“ Why, careful of your life, — of your health, my 
dear, — not to speak of propriety.” 

“No need to speak of propriety, I should hope, my 
sage aunt !” and Rose’s dark eyes twinkled mirth, 
fully. “They are all very /proper people at Baltray- 
and I hope you consider me both proper and sedate.” 
She tried hard to look sedate, at which her aunt 
smiled, and tapped her cheek, whilst her grandfather 
laughed, a low, quiet laugh peculiar to himself. 

“ You may as well let her alone, Lydia ; you see 
she grows wilder and more wilful as she grows older. 
But what news from Baltray, Rosey ? How did you 
find old Mabel ?” 

“ Much better in body, grandpa, but sorely troubled 
in mind.” 

“ Indeed ? why, what’s the matter with her ?” 

“ Anything wrong with Barney ?” 

“ No, aunt, Barney is doing very well, indeed. 
But you will laugh when you hear the cause of Mabel’s 


TUB OI/D HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 2J 

trouble. She has been dreaming of late about ua 
here, and is quite sure that something is going to 
happen. She bid me tell you, aunt, in particular, that 
she heard the Banshee keening every night for the last 
three 

“ Nonsense, Rosey !” said Miss Ackland, lowering 
her voice with an anxious look at her father, who was 
somewhat deaf, “ how can you rattle on so ? — I won- 
der at you to repeat such silly stuff.” 

“ Well, but, aunt ! she told me to tell you, and I’m 
sure I didn't think it was any harm. And she gave 
me another message for you,” she added, pouting, 
“ but I suppose I must not tell it.” 

The aunt smiled, a shade of something like curios- 
ity appearing on her calm face. “ You may as well 
finish when once you began, only speak lower. What 
was Mabel’s other message for me ?” 

“ That last night, as she lay between sleeping and 
waking, one that you used to know came and stood 
beside her bed, and a smile on his face for all the 
world as if he was alive and well.” 

“ Child, child, what have you been saying?” cried 
the old man, pointing to his daughter, and Rose, turn- 
ing quickly, saw that her aunt had fallen back in her 
chair pale and trembling. Rose, in great trepidation, 
began to apologize, but her aunt, recovering her com- 
posure, rose with a forced smile, and saying it was al- 
most time for tea, kissed the rosy cheek of the won- 
dering girl, and left the room. In vain did Rose 
look to her grandfather for explanation ; he had fallen 


22 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


into one of his musing fits, and seemed wholly uneon* 
gcious of her presence. There was a comical look of 
bewilderment on Rose’s face, as she stood gazing on 
the door by which her aunt had retreated. “ Mes- 
sage, indeed !” said she, half aloud, “ well, I’m sure 
Mabel may deliver her own messages for me, for the 
time to come ! But, dear me ! who’d have thought 
that my stately Aunt Lydia should be so overcome by 
the ‘silly stuff’ she blamed poor me for repeating! 
Well! miracles will never cease !” 

When the little family met at tea half an hour 
later, there was not a trace of emotion on Miss Ack- 
land’s face ; a shade paler than her wont she might 
have been, but her manner was just the same as usual, 
calm, self-possessed, and what some might consider, 
cold — the very opposite of Rose’s bright, gushing, 
superabundant vivacity. Rose, with her black eyes 
round, full, sparkling, her rosy cheeks, and wavy 
brown hair, her rounded girlish figure, somewhat in- 
clining to the “ plump,” and the careless buoyancy of 
spirit which defied all rules of conventional manner- 
ism, was the very personification of life’s blithe spring- 
time, whilst her aunt, tall, shapely, dignified, though 
rather handsome not particularly so, and sad-browed 
withal, was like autumn, — early autumn, — ^her smile, 
when she did smile, bright and cheering as the sun 
that lights October woods and makes a glory of their 
gorgeous beauty. As for the old gentleman, the 
father of one and the grandfather of the other, he 
seemed to have reached that, perhaps, enviable stage 


THB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


28 


of existencso when life’s cares are but half felt^ and 
life’s pleasures but half enjoyed — the dimness of age 
was settling down on his senses, and although his 
face, once strikingly handsome, still retained traces 
of superior intelligence, and his tall figure had lost 
but little of its original height, Mr. Ackland looked 
the old man he was, with the weight of threescore 
years and ten bowing down his once stalwart frame. 
His long hair, “ silver’d o’er with age,” and parted in the 
middle, hung dowm on either side his head, giving to 
his strongly-marked Horman features that venerable 
aspect so becoming in age. Beside the old gentle- 
man, on a high chair that had probably been Rose’s 
when a baby, and regularly set at table for the pur- 
pose, sat Tib the cat, watching demurely the progress 
of the meal of which she always had her due appor- 
tionment, for Mr. Ackland would by no means trust 
the feeding of his favorite to old Nancy, who was 
known to regard her with no friendly feelings, for 
reasons known to herself, and not altogether unknown 
to others. 

There was comfort within the quiet dwelling, and 
around the plain but neatly-served tea-table of the 
Acklands. The room which served them as a gen- 
eral saUe-a-manger^ was smaller than the one in which 
we first saw them, with an old-fashioned grate and a 
coal fire in the fireplace, and directly opposite an 
arclied recess, in which stood a heavy mahogany side- 
board, as old apparently as itself. Red moreen cur- 
tains were drawn down over the one window of the 


24 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

room, shutting out the dark night and the howling 
winds that were abroad on land and water. 

“How snug it is in here,” said Rose, glancing 
around with that sense of comfort which belongs of 
right and by force of contrast to the winter evening, 
“ but it is a wild night on sea, and I fear we shall hear 
of shipwrecks to-morrow. Do you know, aunt, I have 
never got over the fear of high wind since the night 
of the great storm.” 

“ I wonder you remember it so well, Rosey,” said 
her aunt, speaking with apparent effort, for some sad 
memory seemed uppermost in her mind at the mo- 
ment ; “you were but a little child at the time ; it was 
the year before your poor mamma’s death.” 

“ Oh ! dorCt I remember it for all that ? Indeed I 
do !” 

“ What do you remember, Rose ?” inquired Mr. 
Ackland, who had caught but the one word. Unlike 
most deaf persons he never raised his voice in speak- 
ing; his tones were, if anything, lower and more 
subdued than in former years, before that first symp- 
tom of advancing age had come upon him. “ What 
did you say you remembered ?” 

“ The night of the great storm, grandpapa, a night 
like this always makes me think of it.” 

“ Ah ! that was an awful night,” said the old man 
dreamily, as though endeavoring to recall the time 
and the scene ; “ yes, I, too, remember it well. But”— 
and his eye shone with something of its former fire, 
“ tremendous as the storm was our Fair Trade? 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


25 


weathered it. Wasn’t it great of the little captain 
and his saucy craft to keep afloat in such weather, 
when the sea was covered with wrecks, and the 
noblest ships that sailed the channel went down head 
foremost ? ha ! and she the only Drogheda vessel out 
that night ! eh, Lydia ?” 

“It was certainly something to boast ot, papa,” 
said Miss Ackland, pleased to see her father’s interest 
excited, and desirous of keeping it up. “I don't 
wonder that the merchants of Drogheda presented 

Captain B with such a substantial testimonial in 

token of their admiration.” 

“ I was one of the first to move in getting it up,” 
said Mr. Ackland, and he drew himself up with the 
harmless vanity of an old man. 

“So I have often heard, papa, and, indeed, I remem- 
ber it well myself. The Trader was popular before, 
but it was that night that made her reputation and 
that of her active, spirited little captain, of whom I 
have heard you speak many a time.” 

Nancy now appeared to “ remove the tea-things,” 
in answer to Miss Ackland’s ring, and Rose could not 
help laughing at the scowling look she cast on the 
cat, and the mattered comments on her being allowed 
at the table all as one as a Christian, which she knew 
could not reach “ the master’s” ears. 

“ God grant he mayn’t be sorry for it when it’s too 
late !” said she, half to the ladies, half to herself, as she 
made her exit with the tea-tray, after darting another 
angry look at the unconscious object of her singular 
aversion. 


CHAPl'ER n. 


The old house was somewhat dull at times for 
Rose Ackland’s liking ; not but what she was happy 
— ^happy in the love and gentle companionship of hei 
aunt, and the doting fondness of her grandfather 
whose darling she was, as may well be supposed ; 
moreover, she had never known a gayer life than that 
she led with them, and she knew no reason, therefore, 
why she should desire a change. She was happy, 
too, in the regular routine of her daily life, and in its 
unbroken peace forgot its dullness and monotony. 
Ilers was not a nature wherein there lie depths un- 
seen of mortal eye, depths which, like the pool of 
Bethesda, await their time to be troubled, stirred into 
good or evil ; bright, cheerful, transparent, she was 
born to make joy around her, and to be made glad 
and joyous ; gloom and discontent were alike unknown 
to her, and care she had never known, so could not 
realize. Brought up by her aunt in the sweet and 
soothing regularity of a Christian life, surrounded only 
by the good and the refined, she had never seen the 
dark side of life, or of human nature, and passion she 
knew not even by name. Yet bright, calm, and peace- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


27 


fill as her life was, and little as she knew of the world 
without, there were times, as we have said, when the 
gloom and the silence of the old house chilled her 
buoyant spirit, and she started at the echo of her own 
footfall, through the tenantless rooms and along the 
narrow, dimly-lighted corridors, that ran around the 
winding staircase ascending from the centre of the 
hall to the topmost story. When of an evening her 
aunt lapsed into thoughtful silence, as often happened, 
and her grandpapa dozed in his arm-chair. Rose would 
have recourse for a while to her piano, but she soon 
tired of playing when no one listened, and then she 
was fain to go to the kitchen, and have a chat with 
old hfancy, who having been in the family since long, 
long before she was born, knew all about her mother, 
and the good old days when Mr. Ackland was Mayor 
of Drogheda, and his house “ great for company.” In 
the altered circumstances of the family, Nancy was 
the only one that remained of aTgoodly retinue of ser- 
vants, and although the old woman never lost sight 
of what the Acklands had been, and never presumed, 
to any great extent, on her long and faithful service, 
still it was natural that she should feel herself, and be 
treated by the family, as something more than an 
ordinary domestic. 

That old kitchen of Nancy’s, though large and 
Btone-floored, was the cleanest and cheeriest of kitch- 
ens, a very picture of domestic comfort, and so Rose 
thought when, leaving her grandfather and aunt at 
their chess or backgammon, she stole off to the kitchen, 


28 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


and took a chair placed by Nancy near the fire, that 
bleak winter’s night after her visit to Baltray. She 
was scarcely seated when the cat made her appear- 
ance, and took her station in the chimney corner op- 
posite, not, however, without an energetic protest on 
the part of Nancy, who could with difficulty be per- 
suaded to let her remain there. 

“ She’s as wise as any Christian,” said she, “ the 
Lord forgive me for evenin’ a Christian to a cat — 
but, sure, it’s no wonder,” and she lowered her voice 
to a whisper, “ it’s the devil’s own wit she has, the 
Lord save us !” 

“ Why, Nancy,” cried Rose with her merry laugh, 
“ how hard you are upon poor Tab ! What in the 
world makes you hate her so ?” 

“Oh! I’ll tell you that another time — when she’s 
not to the fore. It isn’t safe talkin’ about the likes 
of her an’ them listenin.’ You were down at B iltray. 
Miss Rosey — ^what way is Mabel ?” 

“ Pretty well — for her, you know — but fretting her- 
self to death on account of a dream she had.” 

“ A drame !” cried Nancy, much excited ; she was 
given to dreaming herself ; “ ah then, what was the 
drame about 1” 

“Well, that is more than I can tell you; she bid 
me tell Aunt Lydia that she had dreamed of some- 
body she used to know, and the best of it was, that 
as soon as I told my aunt, thinking, to be sm’e, that 
she would laugh at the old creature’s sending her 
such a message, she got as pale as death, and came 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


29 


near fainting, I believe. I declare she frightened me 
almost out of my wits.” 

“Was it a man or a woman she seen in the drame— 
that’s Mabel, I mane ?” 

“ A man, for I noticed she said ‘ he? But, my good- 
ness ! what of that ? I’m sure I dream about all sorts 
of things, and people, too, and it never troubles me 
in the least.” 

Ah! God help your wit, poor child!” said Nancy 
in a very serious tone, shaking her head the while, 
“ it’s little you know about trouble in drames or out 
o’ them. Your time’s to come yit, — astore^ it’s all be- 
fore you.” 

“ What’s before me ?” said Rose, turning quickly, 
her curiosity somewhat excited by the old woman’s 
manner still more than her words. “ What do you 
mean, Nancy?” 

“ I mane, dear, that when you have lived as long, 
an’ come through as much as your aunt, — but God 
forbid you’d ever do that !” she muttered in an under 
tone — “ you d maybe be as feard of the drames that 
come by night as she is now.” 

“ As she is ?” cried Rose, much surprised ; “ why, 
you don’t mean to speak so of my aunt, do you ? 
Has she had so much trouble in her life ? I know all 
about grandpapa’s losses in trade, and all that, and 
how my poor papa and mamma died within a year 
of each other. I have often heard my aunt speak of 
those things, but in a quiet, gentle way, — I never saw 
her so overcome as she was to-night when I gave her 


80 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Mabel’s message. What can it mean ?” And a 
shade of thought, all unusual, flitted over the bright 
girlish face. She was silent a moment, so was Nancy, 
but when Rose at last lifted her eyes to the ohl 
woman standing by her side, she was struck by the 
look of conscious intelligence that was in her keen 
gray eyes. “Nancy!” she said, laying hold of her 
arm, you know it all — you can tell me. I never 
thought of that. You have known my aunt so long!” 

“ Ah ! God's blessin’ be about her, sure I seen her 
a weeny little thing not so high as the table ! Ay !” 
she added, as if to herself, “ I knew her when she 
was as merry as a kid, an’ as happy as the day was 
long. An’ no wonder she would — ah ! no wonder. 
Well! it’s a quare world, anyhow! — och ! didn’t I 
know them all — all — didn’t I know him^ too, — an’ 
many’s the bright silver crown he gave me ! Oh 
sure, sure, it was a pity they didn’t come together, 
for there never was a couple better matched, a*i’ so 
every one said !” 

“But you talk of him^ Nancy? Now, I want to 
know who he was, and all about him. Tell me — 
there’s a good Nancy.” 

Nancy could never resist the young lady s coaxing — 
no, never, and she made up her mind to tell her all 
she knew herself of Miss Ackland’s early life ; with 
that intention, she squatted beside her on the floor in 
that attitude so familiar to an old Irishwoman of her 
class when she sets herself for a shanachus, her hands 
clasped tightly round her knees. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


31 


“ Miss Rose,” she began, “ your aunt wasn’t always 
the same as you see her now. Well ! now, only look 
at that cat,” dropping her voice very low, “ see how 
she watches me ; I’ll engage, now, she undherstands 
every word I’m sayin’.” 

“ Oh, dear me, Nancy, don't mind the cat — do gd 
on with your story !” 

“ Well ! Miss, as I was goin’ to tell you, your aunt 
was a fine darlin’ young lady about twenty years 
agone, not so full of fun, or fond of divarsion as you 
are, but still brisk an’ lively, an’ as purty a crature as 
you’d wish to look at — ay ! a deal purtier than you 
are now. Miss Rose, for you see she had skin as white 
as milk, an’ hair as black as a sloe, an’ eyes like the 
blue sky of a bright summer's day when the sun is 
shillin’ through it. An’ then she was so tall an’ 
straight, an’ you could a’most span her waist, an’ she 
had a step like a queen — ^well ! it’s a folly to talk, she 
tons a beauty — so I thought, anyhow.” 

“ My goodness, Nancy ! never mind telling me 
what Aunt Lydia was then — I can well imagine what 
she must have been, from what I see her now ! But 
what about the gentleman — for I suppose he %vas a 
gentleman ?” 

“ ’Deed, then, he was. Miss, an’ the heart’s blood 
of a gentleman, too, none of your pinked out, dandi- 
fied sham genteels, but a rale off-handed, good-na- 
tured, dashing fellow, with the sperit of a prince, an’ 
the heart of a lion, as I often hard the ould master 
Bay — ochone ! it’s little he thought, then, of all that 


B2 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 

was to happen in the long run ! Tall an’ handsome 
he was, too, with his beautiful head of light-colored 
hair, an’ a light complexion, too, an’ the purtiest smile 
you ever seen on a man’s face. An’ the voice he 
had — why, you’d love to hear him talkin’. Miss Rose, 
even if you didn’t know him, at all. Well! well! it’s 
a quare way things goes on in this wicked world, 
when the likes of him ’id he trated in the way he 
was.” 

“ What way was he treated, Nancy ? Or who was 
he, at all?” 

k “ That’s what I’m goin’ to tell you. Miss Rose, if 

you’ll only have patience.” 

“ What are you going to tell her, Nancy?” 

Both started, and looked round in blank dismay ; 
it was Miss Ackland who spoke, and the icy coldness 
of her tone, and the stony severity of her look some- 
how reminded Rose, disconcerted as she was, of the 
handsome, fair-haired, dashing cavalier to whose 
praises she had been so eagerly listening, and made 
her sympathize with that unknown individual in the 
“ treatment” he might possibly have received. Nancy 
was on her feet in a moment, but somehow she for- 
got to answer the question put to her. 

Miss Ackland looked from one to the other, and 
she smiled a bitter, inward smile, all unlike her own. 
Then she laid her hand kindly on her niece’s head—* 
“ Rose, my dear, go to your grandpapa, he is rather 
low in spirits to-night, so try and make him laugh, as 
I know you can.” 



THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


S3 


“ Yes, A'xnt Lydia !” and Rose tripped away, taking 
Tab in her arms. 

It was not till the parlor door was heard closing 
after admitting her niece, that Miss Ackland spoke to 
Nancy ; then she said — “ Nancy, what were you tell- 
ing Miss Rose, just now ?” 

“ Nothing at all only — only — now, don’t look at me 
that way. Miss Ackland, and I’ll tell you the truth. 
The dear child wanted to know who it was that Mabel 
had been dramin’ about, that her message troubled 
you so much ” 

“ Troubled me so much ? — Nancy, you forget your- 
self!” 

“ Well! I didn’t mane to say that. Miss Ackland, 
but now that it’s out, let it go. I’m sure its no 
wondher it would trouble you to hear of him 
that’s ” 

“ Nancy, I have one thing to tell you, once for all,” 
interrupted Miss Ackland more sternly than her old 
domestic had ever heard her speak — “ I do not wish 
you to speak to Miss Rose of— -of,” her lip trembled, 
and her voice faltered — “ of the person you allude 
to. When I deem it proper that she should know 
the sad story of my life, I will tell her myself. 
To hear it now would only throw a cloud over her 
young life, without serving any good purpose. Some 
day I may tell her all, but not now-^oh ! not now — 
and, remember, Nancy ! what I say to you— never 
breathe a word of anything relating to him — to me— 


TDE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

in those long-past days. But, tell me, how much 
she know ?” 

“ N othing. Miss, nothing worth speaking of— only 
that there wets such a person.” 

“ Not his name ?” 

“No, Miss Ackland; nothing at all only what I 
tell you.” 

“ It is well ; see that it continue so.” 

The lady then went on to speak of some house- 
hold matters on which she had come to consult 
Nancy, and no further allusion was made to the for- 
bidden topic. When Miss Ackland left the kitchen, 
the old woman stood a moment looking after her, 
then shook her head, and muttered to herself — 
“ That’s the world all over ! — Out o’ sight, out o’ 
mind !” Simple, soft-hearted old Nancy ! much you 
knew about it I 

Miss Ackland thought it a strange coincidence that 
for the first time in years long her father had that 
evening reverted to the same period of her life which 
had been the subject of Nancy’s gossip. The stranger 
it was, too, because it was tacitly avoided by both 
father and daughter in their most private and confi- 
dential intercourse. The allusion was slight and 
casual, it is true, but even so it had stirred the depths 
of a lonely and widowed heart. “ Oh, Ralph !” she 
murmured, as on her way back from the kitchen she 
passed the parlor door, and turned into a dark room 
adjoining, the window of which in daylight com- 
manded a view of the river’s course down to Moi n- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


35 


Iflgton, and a glimpse of the more distant sea — “ oh, 
Ralph ! Ralph Melville ! why does your memory 
haunt me still ? cruel ! you pursue me even from the 
grave ! — The grave !” and she shuddered, — as leaning 
against the side of the deep recess of the window 
she looked out on the gloomy night, and the troubled 
waters far below, revealed ever and anon by the 
forked lightning’s lurid glare, — “ The grave ! ah ! 
my poor Ralph ! not even the mournful comfort is 
mine to know that you sleep in hallowed earth ! But 
why, why can I not forget the dismal past ? Why 
does that mournful voice echo forever in my heart — 
why is ever before my eyes that last sad, reproachful 
look ? — Oh my God ! why can I not forget ?” 

She was aroused from her painful reverie by the 
blithe cheery voice of Rose singing in the parlor a 
song that her grandfather loved — -‘The Canadian 
Boat-Song.” Silently Lydia listened, the tears stream- 
ing down her cheeks. It was Ats song, the first she 
had heard him sing, and the scene rose vividly before 
her, so vividly that all the long lapse of years, the 
weariness, the pain that lay between was forgotten, 
that happy evening was back again, and the sea for 
the while gave up its dead to live and love as of old, 
in the prime of youth and health. 

Suddenly a dull heavy sound reached Lydia’s ear, 
amid the roar of winds and the surging of waters. 
It was the signal gun of some ship in distress, — out 
at sea, but near the coast- Forgetting the life-long 
sorrows which a moment before had absorbed her 


36 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


every thought and feeling, Miss Ackland started at 
the ominous sound, and opening the window, leaned 
out ; again, over the increasing storm, boomed forth 
the signal gun, nearer and more distinct than before, 
awaking the sullen echoes of rock and river, and roll- 
ing by on the wintry blast. Hastily closing the win- 
dow, Miss Ackland hurried to the parlor, at the door 
of which she was met by Rose pale and trembling. 
The old man, too, had left his seat, and stood in a 
listening attitude, a troubled, anxious look on his 
aged countenance. 

“ Oh ! Aunt Lydia, where can it be ?” cried Rose, 
grasping her aunt’s arm. Mr. Ackland looked the 
same question. 

“ I fear, papa, it is bearing down on the rocks near 
Clogher.” 

“ Clogher, did you say, Lydia ? — Now, God forbid !’ 

“It is somewhere near there, I very much fear, 
papa !” 

“ Oh ! grandpapa, there it is again, that awful 
sound ! nearer, nearer still I” 

“ Can nothing be done, papa ?” said Miss Ackland 
anxiously. 

“ God knows, child, God knows. Get me my hat, 
Rosey, I must have a look at the night, and the lie of 
that vessel.” 

The hat and cloak were brought, and Mr. Ackland 
sallied forth, followed by all his “ womankind,” for 
Nancy, too, had heard the signals of distress, and, ter- 
rified, rose from her prayers by the fireside to join 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


37 


the family group on the esplanade in front of the 
house. Shot after shot was now booming through 
the air in quick succession, denoting the increasing 
peril of the mariners. 

“ Well, papa?” inquired Miss Ackland, when they 
had all stood a moment silent whilst the old man’s 
practised eye scanned the dismal scene. 

“ You were right, Lydia, the sound comes from the 
direction of Clogher, and wo betide any vessel that is 
driving before the wind to-night off that rocky ridge, 
for the gale is a fierce northeaster.” 

“ But, papa, don’t you think some boats will put off 
to try and save the crew ?” 

“ I much fear that no boat could live to-night in 
such a sea as that which sweeps round the Head. 
Still, they’re a hardy set of fellows those Clogher fish- 
ermen, and I’m sure they’ll do it, if men can.” 

“ God grant it !” was the fervent prayer of all the 
hearts in that group of anxious watchers. 

“ If they could only make the Tower,* now, and 
get over the bar,” said Mr. Ackland, “ the Baltray 
men wouldn’t have such a sea to breast, and they 
might save some lives. God bless us all, it’s a fearful 
night ! Many a stout craft will go down in the 
storm, if it be not the mercy of God ! See the fiery 
glare that shines through the darkness out on the 
deep ! Lydia ! do you still hear the gun ? My old 
ears are so dull of hearing !” 

* Maiden Tower, which stands on the beach at Mornington, 
near the mouth of the Boyne. 


38 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Yes, there it is again— but the intervals are longer 
— perhaps — perhaps efforts are being made to save 
the crew !” 

“ Ah I my child, I fear little can be done — 'but let 
ns go in,” added the old man sadly, “ we can do no- 
thing, anyhow !” 

“We can pray, papa, and that will still be some- 
thing.” 

“ Indeed,” said Rose, “ I have been praying ever 
since we came out, and so has Nancy.” It was true 
enough, for the latter was telling her beads with great 
devotion. So the little family adjourned to the lighted 
parlor, and they all knelt to supplicate Mary the Star 
of the Sea to assist all distressed mariners that night, 
and more especially those who were in danger of 
perishing, almost within their sight. 

“ If it be not Thy holy will that they should be 
saved, O Lord !” prayed Miss Ackland with bowed 
head and clasped hands, “ have mercy, at least, on 
their poor souls, and prepare them for eternity 
Long they all knelt and prayed, while the storm raged 
wdthout, but in vain they listened for the signal-gun ; 
it reached their ears no more. 

Next morning the family were all astir early ; the 
storm had subsided, and the pale wintry sun was ris- 
ing from the blue sea-wave in the golden east. Not 
slow was the news in reaching the old house on the 
hill. A foreign merchantman had gone to pieces on 
the rocks near Clogher Head. 

A.nd the crew ? what of them?” 


THE OLD KOCSE BY T1<E BOYNE. 


39 


“ Most of them were saved, partly by the efforts of 
the Clogher fishermen, partly by swimming, and 
clambering up the rocks.” 

“ Thank God for that, anyhow !” said old Nancy 
with pious fervor, as she hastened with the welcome 
tidings to the room where the family were just sit- 
ting down to breakfast. Rose clapped her hands 
joyfully. 

“ Oh dear ! I’m so glad ! I thought they were all 
drowned, and that would have been such a pity ! — 
oh ! I’m sure the Blessed Virgin heard our prayers I 
I know she did !” 

“ What is that, Lydia ?” inquired Mr. Ackland ; 
“ any news from the coast ?” 

“ Yes, papa,” Miss Ackland said, in that slightly 
elevated tone which her father’s infirmity required, 
“ the ship went to pieces on the rocks this side of 
Clogher Head, but nearly all the crew were saved.” 

‘‘ Thank God, child, thank God ! there is nothing 
bad, they say, but might be worse. I shall walk into 
town by and by to try and find out wdiat became of 
the poor fellows.” 

‘‘And I think, papa, if you'll send us out a car. 
Rose and I will drive down to Clogher and see 
how matters are there. I am most anxious to know 
all about the shipwreck, and see if anything is being 
done for those of her crew who were saved.” 

“Very well, my dear, I will send Connor”— -(the 
car-driver usually employed by the family). A little 
while after, the tall thin form of old George Ackland — 


40 


TUK OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTXE. 


familiar enough to the good people of Drogheda — 
might be seen walking, gold-headed cane in hand, 
through Lawrence’s Gate, and down Lawrence street 
and Shop street, on his way to the office of an old 
friend and former partner on the Quay, where he ex- 
pected to get the desired information. Long before 
he reached his destination, he knew all that was 
known in Drogheda, for every one he passed in the 
streets was talking of the wreck of the good ship 
San Fietro of Leghorn, near Clogher Head, that the 
crew were all saved except a few, and that the captain 
was already in town making arrangements for the 
temporary accommodation of his men. Some of the 
townspeople had been already to the scene of the 
disaster, bringing with them ample supplies of every- 
thing necessary for the immediate relief of the sur- 
vivors. 

When Mr. Ackland returned home to his three 
o’clock dinner, he was met in the hall by his grand- 
daughter, all a-glow with life and health, and brim- 
ful of intelligence. “ God bless the child !” was 
the old man’s inward ejaculation as the cheering 
vision burst on his age-dimmed eyes. 

“Well, Rosey, my pet, what news have you for 
me ? What of the San Fietro i'” 

“ Oh ! grandpapa, we saw all the poor sailors. A1 
most every house in Clogher has some of them for tha 
present, but you know what poor accommodations 
they have for anybody there.” 

“ I know, my child, but they will not be long left 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BO\’NE. 41 

to the Ologher people’s care ; I believe they will be 
brought into town this afternoon.” 

By this time the old gentleman had laid aside, with 
Rose’s assistance, his overcoat, hat, and stick, and 
had ensconced himself snugly in his arm-chair in front 
of the parlor fire. Rose drew a tabouret and placed 
herself at his side. 

“ Grandpapa,” said she, “ do you know there was one 
passenger on board the San Pietro ?” 

“ Yes ? — A supercargo, I suppose, or some friend of 
the captain ?” 

“No, grandpapa, the sailors didn’t know anything 
about him ; but he is a gentleman, that’s certain, by 
his appearance — Aunt Lydia said she was sure he 
was.” 

“ Well, and what then ?” 

“ Why nothing, grandpapa, only Aunt Lydia said 
she couldn’t think of leaving him in such a place, and 
he quite ill, too, so she got Tom Madigan to put a bed 
m a cart and take him up here.” 

“ Oh ! that’s how it is, is it ? So your aunt has 
brought him home ?” . 

“ Yes, papa,” said Miss Ackland, who now entered 
to announce dinner, “I knew you would not object to 
my doing so, and I know when you see the poor young 
man you will be glad I did. He w^as quite insensible 
when I found him in Madigans cottage, and might 
have died there soon for want of proper care.” 

The old man’s lip quivered, and a tear moistened 
his eyelids — “ Humph, that’s so like you, Lydia, you 


42 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


never calculate cost or trouble wlien any one requires 
your assistance. No, my daughter, I do not object 
to what you have done, so long as you are willing to 
undertake this new responsibility. Come, let us go 
to dinner.” Kind, benevolent old man, type of patri- 
archal age, and of all the broad sympathy with his 
<^nd which marks the true gentleman. Kich Yvas 
George Ackland in the midst of that poverty to 
which honor and honesty had voluntarily consigned 
him. Rich in the esteem and respect of the com- 
munity in which he lived^ and of which he had once 
been a leading and prominent member. He belonged 
to an old Protestant family, but had become a Catho- 
lic a little before his mai riage with the daughter of 
another old Norman family, the Chesters, then and 
now occupying a high position amongst the Catholic 
gentry of Louth. Like most converts to the faith 
Mr. Ackland was a practical, zealous Catholic, illus 
trating faithfully in his life the beautiful precepts of 
the religion he had embraced, and whilst looked up 
to by Catholics with proud affection, commanded 
even from Protestants the respect due to an honorable 
and high-minded gentleman, never so high amongst 
them as since the repeated failures of large mercan- 
tile houses with whom he was connected had involved 
his affairs in irretrievable ruin. Such was old George 
Ackland. 



CHAPTER HI. 


Two weeks had passed before the young stranger 
was pronounced out of danger, and another week be- 
fore he was permitted to leave his bed. His life had 
been in imminent danger from concussion of the 
brain, the effect of his having been dashed by a wave 
against a jutting fragment of rock on the night of the 
shipwreck. His perilous position on the ledge Tvhere 
he was thrown had been fortimately discovered by 
one of the sailors in time to rescue him before the re- 
turning wave should carry him to certain death. 
During his illness, he had been assiduously tended by 
Miss Ackland and old Haney, the former, especially, 
spending great part of her time in the sick-room. 
The most perfect quiet being declared necessary for 
the patient’s recovery, neither Mr. Ackland nor Rose 
was admitted to the room until after the object of the 
family’s charitable care had been pronounced out of 
danger, and was sitting up. It had been a source of 
some anxiety to Miss Ackland how she was to com 
municate with her patient when once his reason began 
to return ; she had naturally supposed that he could 
speak no English, and her knowledge of foreign Ian- 


44 


THE OLD 1P^:SE BY THE BOYNE. 


guages was unluckily limited to French. Her plea- 
sure, then, was equal to her surprise when, in the 
delirium which supervened on the lethargic stupor 
of the first twenty -four or thirty hours, the disjointed 
sentences that reached her ears from his parched lips 
were as often English as Italian — ^though sometimes 
a mixture of both. ' Her mind once made easy on 
that score, she devoted herself with renewed assiduity 
to the duties of her self-imposed charge, and looked 
hopefully forward to the satisfaction of seeing her 
cares rewarded by the perfect recovery of her inter- 
esting patient, for such he really was. 

As for the young stranger himself, his first return 
to consciousness was like that of a person awaking 
from a dream. Hear a window within sight of where 
he lay sat Miss Ackland knitting, her graceful head 
bent forward, and her delicate profile clearly marked 
against the dark wall beyond. The sweet face was 
already familiar to him, for all through that long 
feverish dream, he had seen it by his bed, and bend- 
ing over him with loving kindness like that of a 
pitying angel, or a fond mother, as he murmured now 
softly to himself. From the lady’s face, the young 
man’s eyes wandered round the room; it was old 
and dark, at least so it seemed to him in the subdued 
light which struggled through the half-closed win- 
dow. A few pictures, religious pictures, he could 
see, hung on the walls, and opposite the foot of his 
bed, a crucifix, under which was a holy-water font. 
The sight of these familiar objects drew tears often- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 4D 

der remembrance from the young man’s eyes, and 
raised his heart for a moment to the Divine Power 
who had, he felt, preserved him from a great danger 
though as yet he knew not how. A cursory glance 
at the furniture of the room, old and plain and well 
worn, revealed to him clearly the fact that the dwell- 
ing was not the abode of wealth or luxury, though it 
as evidently was, of religion and charity. So he lay 
musing a little while, unwilling to disturb the deli- 
cious languor that follows the departure of pain, and 
marks the first stage of convalescence. He turned 
his eyes again on the lady at the window, wondering 
who and what she might be, and watched as in a 
pleasant tranquil dream, the motion of her fingers, 
and the glinting of the needles in the dim light. 
From the present his thoughts wandered to the past, 
and in die half conscious state of his mind, he could 
fancy that he saw again the mother who was no 
longer amongst the living, sitting by her window in 
that far-off southern city by the blue waters of the 
Mediterranean. At last the lady rose, laid down her 
knitting and approached his bed, softly, noiselessly ; 
the spell was broken, but the reality was still pleasant, 
and romantic enough to excite interest and curiosity 
in a youthful mind. 

Great and very agreeable was Miss Ackland’s sur- 
prise when on bending, as usual, over her patient, she 
saw him fully awake, the light of reason shining in his 
eyes, and in the faint smile that brightened the waD| 
wasted features. 


46 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Thank God !” was Miss Ackland’s first fervent 
ejaculation. 

“ God and you, lady !” the youth repLed in his faint 
low accents. “ I owe you much — very, very much 
gratitude. It seems as though I had been long 
asleep and dreaming. But pray tell me where I 
am ?” 

“ You are in Drogheda, or, at least, very near it, 
and we of this house” — she paused, then smiling, 
added — “ we are honest people, I assure you. You 
left the brigands behind you in Italy So rest con- 
tent for the present, and in due time you shall know 
all. I must go now and get you some little nourish- 
ment. The fever being gone, we must try and build 
you up again.” 

The little delicacies which Miss Ackland wished to 
prepare for her patient, were not so easily pro- 
cured as one might expect. The item of expense 
was one of the points on which Nancy and her mis- 
tress oftenest disagreed. She thought Miss Ackland 
too generous by half, considering the altered circum- 
stances of the family, and it was her practice to re- 
mind her on all manner of occasions that “ charity 
begins at home.” The old woman had grumbled audi- 
bly enough at the bringing of the young stranger to 
the house. “ That’s always the way with Miss Ack- 
land — she never thinks of the expense. Now here’ll 
be docthor’s bills to be paid, an’ other expenses to the 
back o’ that, an’ I suppose it must all come out of the 
poor masther’s pocket, an’ God he knows, there’s too 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 47 

much to come out cf it already. Well! some people 
’ill never be wise J ’ 

To do Nancy justice, however, she soon began to 
take an interest in the poor young stranger, and was 
quite willing to sit up with him in her turn, no mat 
ter how hard she had worked all day. Anything 
that depended on herself to do for him, or that did 
not imply expense to the family, was all right in 
Nancy’s estimation, but when most inclined to pity 
the young gentleman “lyin’ on the broad of his 
back in a strange (country, far away from his own,” 
she still never went to the length of approving of 
Miss Ackland’s “ layin’ out money in handfuls on one 
who wasn’t a drop’s blood to her or hers, — an’ sure 
what matter, if they could only afford it?” 

On the present occasion, however, Nancy was so 
rejoiced to hear of the change for the better in their 
patient, that she made no very strenuous objection to 
the wine- whey which her mistress came to prepare, con* 
soling herself with the comfortable assurance that 
the worst was over, and the tax on the family resour- 
ces would, in all probability, soon cease. 

During the few days that elapsed before the young 
stranger was allowed to leave his bed, he was left 
oftener alone, the necessity for constant attendance 
no longer existing. Mr. Ackland was now a regular 
visitor to the sick-room, and although Rose had not 
yet been permitted formally to make his acquaintance, 
he was not unaware that such a person belonged to 
the household. Through the half-open door he had 


48 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Bometimes caught glimpses of a female figure which 
he knew was not that of his kind lady-nurse ; he had 
heard, too, the distant sound of a clear voice trolling 
some merry lay as only youth’s lightsome heart can, 
and once when he lay “ between waking and sleep- 
ing,” thinking of nothing in particular, but listening 
dreamily to the winds that whistled shrilly round the 
old mansion, the room-door was softly opened, ana a 
bright, girlish face appeared for a moment regarding 
him with a look half arch, half inquisitive. He had 
barely time to look his surprise when the face van* 
ished, and the door closed, much to his chagrin, for 
he began to feel the ennui of convalescence, and to 
long for some other society than that of the grave and 
thoughtful Miss Ackland, and her venerable parent. 
Borne days after, when he was up and sitting in an 
arm-chair near the fire which was now every day 
made in his room, he was roused from a fit of abstrac- 
tion by the stealthy opening of the door, and a sup- 
pressed giggling laugh outside, followed by the en- 
trance into the room of a large cat oddly enough 
attired in an old woman’s deep-bordered cap with a 
ruffle round her neck, the rest of her goodly bulk in 
the dress which nature gave her. The ludicrous 
sight, all the more so from the dignified gravity with 
which the animal stopped short and surveyed him 
from under her strange head-gear, made the youth 
burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, the first 
he had had since he left Leghorn. His merriment 
was evidently shared by some one outside, and he 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


49 


was tempted to try his strength in a journey to the 
door, when a face was thrust in very different from 
that which he expected to see. It was, in fact, that 
of old Nancy, his assistant-nurse, and evidently in no 
good humor was she then, as, calling the cat to her, 
she darted out of the room, without so much as look- 
ing in his direction. In the passage outside he heard 
her voice in no gentle tone calling after some one. 

“Ah, then, wait till I catch you, Miss Rosey! — if I 
don’t be up to you for puttin’ my cap an’ frill on that 
unlucky cat ! Ay ! you may laugh, but it’s no laugh- 
in’ matther to me, for a stitch o’ them things ’ill never 
go on me. As sure as I’m a livin’ woman I’ll tell 
your aunt ! now !” 

It was only when the voice had died away in the 
distance that the young man ventured to laugh at the 
droll scene, the first part of which had evidently been 
intended for his special amusement, while Nancy’s 
inopportune appearance, he shrewdly suspected, was 
not purely accidental, her anger at the base use to 
which her finery was applied, being decidedly the best 
part of the entertainment. One thing he had learned 
from old Nancy’s vehement objurgation, to wit, that 
the young lady’s name was Rosey — “ Miss Rosey 
she called her,” he said to himself, and he kept repeat- 
ing the name over and over as a sort of vocal link 
between him and the world outside the quaint, yet 
snug chamber which was, for the present, virtually 
his prison. A sort of indirect acquaintance had thus 
sprung up between the two young people that was 


50 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


undoubtedly very piquant and pleasing to one per 
haps to both; for it was something new to Rose 
Ackland to have one of her own age, of either sex, 
to play off her pranks on, or to share in her almost 
childish amusements. 

Still, when a few days after, Giacomo, as Miss Ack- 
land and her father had learned to call the young 
stranger, made his first appearance in the parlor, a 
little before the usual hour for the family dinner, 
Rose, introduced by her aunt, curtsied as demurely 
as though she had never made him laugh, or laughed 
with him. Giacomo, of course, followed her example, 
and bowed politely as to a person then met for the 
first time. 

“ My niece has had little experience in tending the 
sick,” observed Miss Ackland, “ and, being none of 
the most sedate, I kept her away from you, Giacomo., 
fearing her intrusion might seriously interfere with 
the doctor’s orders regarding quiet. I believe you 
have not made her acquaintance before ?” 

Giacomo replied in the negative, — Rose must have 
her word, too : “No, Aunt Lydia, he didn’t make my 
acquaintance, but he made Tab’s.” 

“ How is that, child ?” 

“ Why, she paid him a visit the other day en grande 
toilette I — ask Nancy -if she didn’t.” 

The old woman was in the room, at the moment, 
putting fresh wood on the fire. She shook her head, 
and then her fist, at her young mistress, but declined 
further answer, and left the room laughing; Nancy’s 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


51 


anger was never of long duration, least of all with 

Miss Rosey.” 

That sprightly damsel, now called on for an ex- 
planation, gave it right willingly, to the no small 
amusement of her grandpapa, for whose benefit it was 
told over again. Such trifies amuse youth and age, — 
the young and the very old ! Miss Ackland smiled, — 
she seldom laughed — and gently rebuked her niece 
for such childish folly. 

“ Yet, after all,” she added, in a low voice, when 
Rose’s back was turned, “ yet, after all, Giacomo, I 
like to see young people enjoying themselves in their 
own way, and I am often thankful to see how well 
our Rose manages to amuse herself even in this lonely 
old house of ours, with no other society than that of 
her old grandpapa and her elderly maiden aunt.” 

“ Elderly !” the youth could not help repeating, as 
he caught the arch smile that flitted over the fair fea- 
tures of the speaker. 

“Yes, elderly,” she replied, catching his meaning, 
and she gently shook her head, elderly, there’s no 
denying. But there is papa moving bis chair towards 
you. Talk to him while I go and see if dinn^* is 
ready. Be sure you raise your voice a little — a very 
little will do — so that he can hear you. I suppose 
you are aware that dear papa’s hearing is not so good 
as it has been ?” Giacomo replied in the aflTirmative, 
and Miss Ackland left the room. 

Now Mr. Ackland was by no means inquisitive, 
he seldom or never manifested any of that curiosity in 


52 


THE OLP HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


the affairs of others which is supposed to be charac- 
teristic of old people. But it was very natural, and, 
indeed, very prudent that he should wish to know 
something of the connections and antecedents of the 
youth whom circumstances had thus introduced intr 
the small circle which was his world. In the course 
of a ten minutes* conversation he had learned quite 
sufficient of the young man’s position in life and his 
uneventful history to satisfy him that he might safely 
extend to him the rites of hospitality so long as his 
health required. It was not so much the nature or 
extent of Giacomo’s revelations concerning himself 
or his family that satisfied the old gentleman’s natural 
anxiety, as the frank ingenuousness of his manner, the 
honest truthfulness stamped on his features, dark and 
Italian-like as they were. It was impossible not to 
feel that truth and all sincerity looked from his eyes, 
and spoke in his voice ; and Mr. Ackland feeling and 
believing it, shook hands cordially with Giacomo, and 
hoped he would continue to make his house his home 
so long as he found it necessary to remain in Drog- 
h(^da. 

Giacomo’s thanks were int:'.rrupted by the entrance 
of Rose to summon her grandfather and their guest 
to dinner. The young Italian, mindful of the duties 
of politeness, stepped forward to offer his arm to the 
young lady, but she darted off like a lapwing slinking 
her saucy curls, and laughing, as she afterwards told 
Giacomo, at the thought of him offering his arm to 
her, and he scarcely able to walk himself “ I am 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


55 


sure,” said she, “ you look more like needing support 
than I do.” 

Before the little party sat down to dinner, Mr. 
Ackland, with the formal politeness of his day 
and generation, introduced their guest to his daugh- 
ter and granddaughter as Signor Giacomo Malvili, of 
Leghorn, Italy. 

“ Ko — no, not Signor, Mr. Ackland !” protested 
Giacomo ; “ nobody ever called me ‘ Signor^ at home 
— only Giacomo.” 

“Well! well! my dear boy, so be it. Pray, take 
your seat, and let us see how far you have recovered 
your appetite.” 

The dinner over, and the weather being fine fior the 
season, Mr. Ackland invited his guest to sit with him 
in t!ie porch, where, on one or other of the stone 
benches, with a cushion under him, he was wont to 
spend, even at that season, the hour immediately after 
dinner, — in summer longer time, for the place com- 
manded a noble view of river, sea, and land — the sil- 
very Boyne below, and the rich plains of Meath be- 
yond, dotted with the straggling suburbs of the 
borough and many private dwellings, the ancient *and 
venerable town stretching westward, its forts, and 
walls, and church towers, and broken arches and 
steeples full in sight. 

“This must be all new and strange to you,” ob- 
served Mr. Ackland. “ Everything you see here is 
BO dififerent from your own country.” 

“ New it is, but not strange,” said the youth, cast- 


54 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


ing his eyes half listlessly, half curiously over the vor 
ried scene, fair to look upon even in the bleakness of 
winter. “ I have so often heard of Drogheda, and 
had its peculiarities described to me, that it seems as 
though I had long known it. I have heard my father 
say that it is very different from most Irish or British 
towns of the present day T’ 

“ And that is true, Giacomo, ours is in many re. 
spects an interesting town, which I hope you will 
find out before you leave us.” The youth bowed his 
thanks. “ But you spoke of your father — he has 
often visited Drogheda, then, since he knows it so 
well ?” 

A cloud passed over the young man’s face. “ Yes, 
I believe so,” he replied somewhat coldly, then ab- 
ruptly asked if Mr. Ackland knew whether the Cap- 
tain of the San Pietro had yet returned to Italy. 
The captain, a rough but kind-hearted sailor, had 
been once or twice to see Giacomo during his illness, 
and the latter had, as Mr. Ackland knew, given him 
money for the relief of his distressed crew ; he him- 
self having some trading connections in Drogheda, 
was like Giacomo himself, the guest of a private 
family. 

“ He told me when I last saw him that a few of the 
Drogheda merchants had subscribed enough amongst 
themselves to defray the expenses of his crew back to 
Leghorn, and that he would likely go home at the 
same time.” 

“ I believe he is gone,” said Mr. Ackland ; “ I heard 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 55 

in town yesterday, that he and his crew were to sail 
to-day in the Lady Hamilton.” 

“ I am sorry I did not see him,” said Giacomo, 
“ perhaps I might have been able to go with him, and 
I know my father will be so anxious — however, I gave 
the captain a few lines for him, telling him that I am 
almost well now, and exceedingly well cared for, so 
that he need not fear on my account.” 

“ But, tell me, Giacomo,” said Mr. Ackland, “ how 
is it that you speak English so well, you being born 
and brought up in Leghorn. You have only the very 
slightest foreign accent !” 

“ Oh ! that is nothing strange. I have been speak- 
ing English all my life. Your language is a good 
deal spoken in Leghorn, as in some other ports on our 
western coast. Pray, Mr. Ackland, in what direction 
from here are those rocks which proved fatal to the 
San Pietro 

Mr. Ackland pointed in the direction of Clogher. 
“ There they lie,” said he, “ a portion of the mighty 
barrier which guards our little island from the sea’s 
incursions. You cannot see them, however, but the 
place is well worthy of a visit, and the ladies shall 
take you down some day when you are well enough, 
to see the bold promontory which there juts far into 
the Irish Sea.” 

“ And the cave, grandpapa,” said Rose from the 
doorway behind, “ he must see the cave, you know, 
above all things, and we shall have him go down into 
it, just to try his nerves.” 


56 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“You are very kind, Miss Rose,” said Giacomo^ 
gravely ; “ only wait till I have full command of my 
feet again, and you shall see that my nerves will not 
fail me.” 

“ Don’t be too sure of that. Signor,” for so Rose 
persisted in calling him, “wait till you have clam- 
bered down over the side-face of Clogher Head into 
the cave.” 

“ What sort of cave may it be ?” 

“ Oh ! as for that, you must wait till you see it. I 
can’t take the trouble of describing it. But it’s a 
pirate’s cave, you understand, where those sea-rovers 
used to hide their booty long ago. The sailors and 
fishermen about here tell all manner of strange, and 
some of them frightful, stories about it. It is easy 
seen that you are a stranger here, or you’d be sure 
to have heard of the Pirate’s Cave at Clogher.” 

“ You have quite excited my curiosity. Miss Rose. 
I must visit the cave, by all means, before I leave the 
neighborhood.” 

“ Oh ! we have more than that to show you about 
Drogheda. Have we not, grandpapa ?” 

“ What did you say, Rosey ?” 

“ I was telling the Signor, grandpapa, about the 
Pirate’s Cave at Clogher, and I asked you if wo 
hadn’t many other places of interest to show him as 
well as that.” 

‘ Of course we have, Rosey, and I must speak to 
your aunt about taking Giacomo to see our Drogheda 
lions as soon as he is able.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


67 


“ Oh ! that reminds me, grandpapa,” said the vola- 
tile Rose, taking hold of his arm, “ Aunt Lydia thinks 
it is time for you and the Signor to come in. It is al- 
most dark, you see, and the evening is damp and chill. 

“ It is well you thought of your message even now, 
you little chattering magpie,” said the fond parent, 
stroking her hair with his large hand, as he rose, and, 
motioning his guest to go before, proceeded along 
the hall to that “ room of the household,” a sort of 
back-parlor, where most of his in-door hours were 
spent. The contrast between the warm, cheerful 
room within, and the cold, hazy twilight without, was 
very pleasant, and as Giacomo took the place pointed 
out to him at one side of the fireplace, while Mr. 
Ackland occupied the other in his arm-chair, he looked 
around with an exquisite feeling of comfort almost 
unknown before. Fireside enjoyments are little 
known in sunny Italy. 

After tea, Mr. Ackland proposed a game of chess ; 
Giacomo did not play chess ; backgammon, then, or 
draughts ? No, but he would like to learn, if any 
one were kind enough to take the trouble of teach- 
ing him. Whether intentionally or not, he looked at 
Rose, but Rose answering the look said very curtly — 

“Not I, anyhow; I hate chess, draughts, back- 
gammon and the whole tribe of ‘ games they are 
all so prosy and so tiresome. I wonder at you. Sig- 
nor, to think of learning such old-fashioned games 
at your time of life. Pray, how old are you, Signol 
Giacomo ?” 


58 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Some months over twenty,” said Giacomo, smiling 
at the odd brusquerie of the girl’s manner. ‘‘ I shall 
soon he twenty -one.” 

“ Dear me ! how old you are ! Why, I thought 
you were no older than I am ! — well, after all, I wish 
/ was twenty !” 

* “My dear Rose,” said her aunt, “ how you do rat- 
tle on ! Suppose you v^ere twenty, it is very possible 
you might wish yourself back at rosy eighteen, or 
younger still. Go bring the backgammon-box ; since 
you will not undertake to teach Giacomo, I will.” 

“ Very well, then, I’ll play ball with pussy,” pro 
ducing a woollen ball she had made for the purpose. 
“ Signor Giacomo, are you fond of cats ?” 

“Not very,” and Giacomo tried to maintain his 
gravity; “I see you have a very fine specimen of the 
tribe here,” glancing at Tab where she sat on the arm 
of the old gentleman’s chair. 

“ I only wish you could convince old Nancy of that. 
Do you know she has got a notion into her head that 
our poor old Tab is an enchanted Dane, or something 
of the kind ?” 

“ An enchanted Dane ! how would she make that 
out?” 

“ Oh ! I forgot that you weren’t brought up in this 
country. You have read, though, of how the Danes 
used to invade Ireland every once in a while, and stay 
in it, in full possession, as long as the kings and chiefs 
Would let them ?” Giacomo assented. 

“ Well ! it’s a common belief in many parts of the 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


59 


country — that is amongst the peasantry, and so forth— 
that there are Danish treasures hidden away in evef 
BO many places, and guarded by magic spells.” 

‘‘ Is it possible that such things are believed in 
Ireland ?” 

“ Possible ! yes, indeed, it is, very possible and very 
true, and, moreover, certain of the cats are supposed 
to be enchanted Danes. Oh! here comes Nancy — 
you shall hear her opinion of Tab. Now, pray at- 
tend.” Then raising her voice she went on — “ You 
must know. Signor, that Nancy believes our Tab to 
be an enchanted Dane.” 

“ An’ worse than that, Miss Rosey,” said the old 
woman, laying down some wood on the hearth. 

“ Indeed, Nancy, and pray what worse can she be?” 
asked Giacomo, at a sign from Rose. 

“ Well ! that’s what I wouldn’t care to tell you, sii*. 
and herself to the fore. Some other time,” and she 
was moving away. 

“ No, no, Nancy, that^on’t do — tell it now !” cried 
Rose, “ I’ll soon put Tab out of hearing !” and she 
hastened to put the cat, poor harmless creature, out- 
side the door. 

“How is this, Rosey? what are you about ?” asked 
her grandpapa, surprised at this unceremonious treat- 
hent of his favorite. 

Rose explained the matter to his satisfaction, and 
he closed his eyes for a comfortable nap during 
Nancy’s recital. He always closed his ears against 
her maliciious insinuations in regard to Tabby. 


so 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


So Nancy crouching beside Miss Rose in her fa- 
vorite attitude, with her elbow resting on one knee, 
and her chin on her hand, began to tell how “ a stu- 
dent was tra Yellin’ in foreign parts, in Jarmany or 
somewhere there, an’ bein’ benighted in a forest, he 
wandhered on ever till at last he came to a fine grand 
house, an’ when he rang the bell, an’ tould his story, 
they recaved him kindly, an’ made him welcome to 
stay over night, an’ take share of the best they had. 
How, when supper-time came, he was brought to table 
with the rest, and the first thing he seen was a great 
big cat, sit tin’ in a chair beside the fine dacent ould 
gentleman that was in it, the father of the family. 
Well, the student watched the cat, all the time the 
supper was going on, and saw that her master gave 
her the first of everything he put on his plate, and 
that if he forgot it any time, she would slap his arm 
with her paw, and grind her teeth, her eyes blazin’ 
like live coals. So the student asked how long the 
cat had been in the house, and why the ould gentle- 
man had made such a pet of her, and was told that 
she was there in his father’s and grandfather’s time, 
and was just as great a pet with every one of them. 
With that the student told them that it wasn’t a cat, 
at all, that was in it, but an evil sperit, and that if 
they’d give him leave he’d prove it to them that very 
night. Well, to be sure, the ould gentleman, in par- 
ticular, was very angry that such a thing should be 
said of his cat, and the student had hard work to get 
him persuaded ; but at last he bid him look at the 


THE OLD IDUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


61 


eat, and, sure enough, she was ragin’ mad, and 
looked as if she would tear the stranger to pieces, 
gettin’ closer and closer to the ould gentleman. So, 
at long last, he gave in, and the student made them 
bring some holy w^ater, an’ took the ould gentleman 
an’ the rest of the family w’ith him in a round ring 
he made with it on the floor, and then he pulled out 
his book and began a-readin’, an’ after he had read a 
good while, till the sweat was runnin’ down his face, 
i)ie. thing — for, of coorse, it wasn’t a cat — went off in 
a flame of fire, an’ took part of the side-wall with it. 
How the student told them then that it was an evil 
sperit that had haunted the house for ever so many 
years, and that he got the souls of the father and 
grandfather, and would have had the grandson, too, 
if God hadn’t sent him that way with power to de- 
liver him. And, finally, how the ould gentleman and 
his family didn’t know what on earth to make of the 
student, they were so thankful, but they couldn’t get 
him to stay past the one night, and he left them in 
the mornin’, after givin’ them all his blessin’, an’ 
tellin’ them they’d never be troubled any more with 
the evil sperit.” “ So now,” added Nancy, “ you may 
all see that it isn’t a lucky thing to be makin’ so much 
of a brute baste — ^it’s against nature, so it is, an’ God 
grant the master may never be sorry for doin’ it! 
But the quality must see their hobby out, let it be 
what it may.” 

A becoming degree of horror was expressed by 
Giacomo, much to Nancy’s satisfaction, and she was 


62 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


leaving the room in a state of comfortable compla 
cency, when Rose, having slily opened the door, 
and brought in the cat from the hall where she 
found her as if waiting for re-admission, managed 
to get in the rear of Nancy, and placed Tab on the 
old woman’s back, with her paws round her neck. 
Little expecting such a salute, Nancy screamed, try- 
ing in vain to shake off the cat, whose claws stuck 
fast in her woollen kerchief, and it was not till Miss 
Ackland came to her assistance that she succeeded in 
her desperate efforts to release herself from the 
strange embrace ; Rose had made her escape laugh- 
ing, and poor Nancy was left under the impression 
that the cat had come back purposely to hear the 
story, and had thus shown her anger for the liberty 
taken with the feline race. 



CHAPTER IV. 


November was drawing to a close by the time Gia* 
como was able to walk abroad, and although he natu- 
rally felt anxious to return home, and was, moreover, 
conscious that he had trespassed too long on the 
kind hospitality of his new friends, he found it no so 
easy matter to get away. In the first place, the 
weather was not favorable, as he was duly and fre- 
quently informed by Mr. Ackland or his daughter, in a 
tone of mock condolence that was sufficiently amusing. 
As for Rose, she did not appear to trouble herself 
much about the matter. In the next place, he was 
constantly reminded that he had, as yet, seen nothing 
of the old borough, its people, or its ways, and see it 
he must and should. So said Miss Ackland, in her 
gentle but decided way, and Giacomo was fain to 
obey. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Ackland one morning at break- 
fast, “ now that our young friend has consented to 
remain with us over Christmas, and see the sights, 
what is your programme for the exhibition, Lydia ?” 

“ For the churches, papa, and other objects of reli- 
gious interest I mean to place Giacomo in the hands 


64 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


of Jemmy Nulty, who undoubtedly belongs, himself, 
to the same category.” 

“Very true, Lydia, very true; and what then?” 

“ Oh ! as for the rest we shall ourselves do the 
honors — that is Rose and I.” 

“ You are really very good, Aunt Lydia,” pouted 
Rose, “ you do me a great deal of honor, but I don’t 
think I should make a good cicerona^'' 

“ And why, pray ?” 

“ Why, because I hate playing the guide, that’s all, 
and I know that if I went with you, I should have to 
do most of the talking.” 

“ Dear me. Rose,” said her aunt with a smile, 
“ when did you begin to dislike talking ? Still, I 
don’t wonder, for, I suppose, even tongues will tire, 
and you have been chattering so much of late that 
yours must need a little rest.” 

The individual selected by Miss Ackland as Gia- 
como’s guide to the churches was a character not to 
be met with outside of Ireland, perhaps, we might 
say, outside of Drogheda. He was by profession a 
'pilgrim^ which, in the Irish acceptation, means a lay 
person, whether man or woman, who devotes his or 
iier life to worKS of piety, including, of course, fre- 
quent “journeys” to Lough Derg and other famous 
pilgrimages. Some of these “ pilgrims” are not sin- 
cere in their professions of extraordinary piety, but 
such was not the case with Jemmy Hulty, for Jemmy 
was “ an Israelite, indeed, in whom there was no 
guile,” and, although the simplicity of the dove was 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYKE. 


65 


his, not a particle had he of the cunning of the ser- 
pent. A man full of faith and full of charity was our 
Drogheda “pilgrim,” believing ad things that reli- 
gion teaches, and thinking no evil of man, woman, or 
child ; to Jemmy Nulty all the world presented itself 
through the silver veil of charity, and, knowing no 
evil in himself, he could not see it in others, or, see- 
ing, beheld it afar off as in a mirror, something dim 
and undefined to his simple, upright mind. For the 
rest. Jemmy had no very great temptation to make 
a trade of hypocrisy, for he and a brother, as pious 
and unworldly as himself, who lived with him, and 
was, we believe, his only relative, were the joint 
owners of a small cottage in the suburbs “ out West 
Gate,” with some other resources, which, though tri- 
fling in themselves, were amply sufficient for the few 
wants of this primitive pair. A little before the 
time of which we speak, Jemmy had become the sole 
proprietor of the little domicile, the mortal part of 
his brother Phil having gone to rest in the shadow 
of the old Dominican Abbey in The Cord “ out Law- 
rence’s Gate;” his spirit being taken to heaven by 
the blessed angels, as certain of the neighbors had 
seen “ with their own eyes” one clear summer night, 
when the moon was high, and the winds were asleep, 
and the river and the sea, and the slumbering earth 
reflected the beauty and the light of heaven. All 
that was earthly ia Jemmy Nulty’s heart died out 
with Phil’s gentle life, and ever after the old man 
lived more with the blessed inhabitants of the world 


66 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


beyond the stars than his fellow-mortals on earth. 
All that he loved here below were the good friars 
who ministered at the altars of the chapels he most 
frequented, and “ the dear nuns,” that is to say, the 
Sisters of the Presentation and Dominican Orders, 
who greatly favored the old man by supplying him 
with scapulars and other religious objects, not only 
for his own private and personal use, but to distri- 
bute to the piously-disposed friends and patrons by 
whom he was lodged and kindly entertained during 
his pilgrimages hither and thither.* The few fami- 
lies in his native town who were habitually visited 
by Jemmy regarded themselves as highly honored, 
and the Acklands were "so fortunate as to be of the 
number. 

Such, in his general character, was Jemmy ISTulty, 
when he came at Miss Ackland’s bidding one morn- 
ing a day or two after the conversation just men- 
tioned. But the distinctive individuality of the man 
struck our young Italian with surprise when he 
walked with only a “ God save all here !” into the 
front parlor where, as being the most cheerful room 
on the ground-floor, such of the family as were in- 
doors usually spent their mornings. Jemmy’s attire 
was a long dark-colored surtout, not much the worse 

♦Amongst the most pleasing recollections of the author’s 
childish days was the summer-visit of this identical “ pilgrim,” 
on his way to “ Lough Dhar-rog,” as he was wont to pronounce 
Lough Derg. Few visitors were so warmly welcomed by young 
or old in that “ old house at home.” 


THE OLD HOX3SB BY THE BOYNE. 


67 


for wear, but hanging loosely about his tall, and some- 
what heavy frame, for Jemmy was a man of large 
proportions ; this garment, with a long waistcoat, or 
vest to match, knee-breeches, also of a dark color, 
worsted stockings, and the national “brogues” of 
the Irish peasantry, constituted Jemmy’s apparel all 
the year round, Sunday and holiday, winter and sum- 
mer. The happy smile that was on his face was pe- 
culiar to himself ; it was the light from within shin- 
ing out on features that, wanting it, would have been 
stolid and unmeaning. Jemmy was smiling, then, 
and Giacomo thought it was only for the occasion, 
but he soon found that the smile never left the good 
man’s face, being, indeed, its habitual expression. 

“God save all here!” said Jemmy, opening the 
parlor-door, and Miss Ackland responded with the 
fitting “ God save you kindly. Jemmy !” as naturally 
as though she had been born and bred amongst the 
lowly. With perfect ease and self-possession, the old 
man saluted Mr. Ackland, raising his voice to just 
the pitch that was adapted to his hearing. 

“ I met Miss Rose abroad in the garden, as I came 
in the back way,” said Jemmy; “ the dear young lady 
is as fresh as a rose this mornin’.” 

“Yes, Jemmy, she spends good part of her time 
out doors,” said Miss Ackland. “I am glad you 
came so early. Jemmy, for I want you very particu- 
larly.” 

“Ah, then, I’d have been here sooner. Miss,” said 
Jemmy, “ only that I happened to meet Father Dardis 


68 


THE OLD DOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


jist as I came out Lawrence’s Gate, and the deal gen* 
tleman asked me to go before him to a house 
where he was goin’ on a sick-call, to see that things 
were a little hit dacent for what he was hringin’ with 
him. So, of coorse, I had to go.” 

“Of course. Jemmy, of course; but now I must 
tell you why I sent for you. This young gentleman 
whom you see here is an Italian, and a Catholic — a 
good one, too. Jemmy, — and as he has seen none of 
the chapels (except the High Lane where he has been 
at Mass once or twice with us) I want you to take 
him round them all, and be sure you show him 
everything about them and the convents that is 
worth seeing.” 

“Oh! indeed, an’ I’ll do that. Miss,” and Jemmy 
turned his benign smile on Giacomo ; “ it was only 
yesterday that a fisherman from Clogher below was 
tellin’ me in the priest’s house at the Low Lane all 
about the dear young gentleman, an’ what a power 
o’ money he gave the Madigans an’ the rest when he 
went down with you an’ Miss Rose the other day to 
see them. He has goodness in his face whoever he is. 
Dear knows. Miss, but he puts me in mind of the 
fine gentleman that came with you an’ your sister-in- 
law that’s dead an’ gone — the heavens be her bed I — 
that was Miss Rose’s mother — to see me one time 
when I was sick.” 

Lliss Ackland changed color, as she replied in a 
tremulous voice — “ You entirely mistake. Jemmy, the 
gentleman you mean was tall, with light hair, and this 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


69 


young gentleman is much smaller, and of dark com- 
plexion.” 

“Well! I suppose it’s on my eyes it is; they’re 
not so good as they used to be. I’m gettin’ old, 
thanks an’ praise be to God for the fine long day He’s 
givin’ me.” 

J emmy had a way of speaking that was entirely his 
own ; with his eyes half closed, he let the words flow, 
as it were, from his mouth, with a sort of hissing 
sound, in the full, rich round accents of the Louth 
peasantry, generally with great rapidity, sometimes 
with great unction and fervor, his hands the while 
lightly joined, not clasped, over his capacious chest, 
which was, indeed, his habitual attitude, whether sit- 
ting, or standing. 

“ Will the dear young gentleman come now, or 
(uould he rayther wait for another day ?” said Jemmy, 
standing up. 

“ Oh I certainly, I will go to-day,” said Giacomo ; 
“ I couldn't think of troubling you to come again on 
my account.” 

“ Oh 1 my dear, it’s no trouble in life to me — sure, 
it’s proud and happy I am to show the chapels an’ 
things, for the glory of God an’ His blessed Mother, 
an’ all the holy Saints.” 

“ Jemmy,” said Mr. Ackland, whilst Giacomo was 
gone to prepare for going out, “ what about that neigh- 
bor of yours whose cow broke into your little garden 
and eat your cabbages ? I hope you are going to 
prosecute him ?” 


ro 


THE DLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“Is it .me, your honor?” said Jemmy, and for a 
moment the smile left his face, so great was his dis- 
may at the bare idea of “ going to law” — “ is it me 
take the law of the poor dear man bekase his cow 
broke into the little garden I have ! — No, dear sir, I 
wouldn't do it if she ate every green leaf that was in 
it. Sure it wasn’t the dear man’s fault, any way.’' 

“ But they say it was his fault. Jemmy, for that you 
asked him once or twice to repair the fence between 
his yard and your garden, and the lazy, worthless 
fellow couldn’t be got to do it. Come, now. Jemmy, 
did you, or did you not ask him to repair the fence ?” 

Jemmy was fairly cornered, but his charity was not 
to be overcome. “ Och ! well, I suppose I did, for 
the poor thing used to be cornin’ in very often, you 
see, lookin’ for the bit to ate, but sure he hadn’t time, 
Mr. Ackland, if he had he’d have done it. I’ll go bail. 
He has to work hard, sir, to keep so many mouths 
fed. Well ! I ll be biddin’ you good mornin’, Mr. 
Ackland, an’ you, too, dear lady,” turning to Miss 
Ackland, who had listened much amused to Jemmy’s 
ingenious defence of the neighbor and his trespass- 
ing GOW. 

As Giacomo and his guide emerged from the hall- 
door, they beheld Rose in shawl and bonnet tripping 
down the steps before them. “ What a strange girl 
she is,” thought the young Italian, “ can she mean to 
go with us after all ?” 

But she meant no such thing ; having reached the 
gate below she stopped a moment, turned, and smil- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


71 


ing waved her hand, then turned off down the Boyne 
road, in the opposite direction to that which the others 
were to take, and was quickly lost to view. “ I wish 
she had come,” was the young man’s next thought; 
“ after all, I fear it will be dull work this visitinor 
the churches — or chapels as they call them — with this 
good man for all company.” 

It was not so dull as Giacomo expected, for Jem- 
my Nulty grew eloquent when expatiating on any- 
thing appertaining to religion or religious worship, 
and although the chapels of Drogheda were not then 
v/hat other ages had seen there, being plain, and, for 
the most part, little indebted to art for style or 
beauty, yet to Jemmy’s enthusiastic imagination they 
were worthy of all praise, and where no grace or 
beauty was visible to other eyes, he saw, and glow- 
ingly described it. They visited in turn the Francis- 
can Chapel in the High Lane, off St. Lawrence street, 
the Augustinian Chapel in the Low Lane, off Shop 
street, and the Dominican Chapel in a court adjoin- 
ing Linenhall street. Giacomo, accustomed to the 
richly adorned churches of Italy, saw little to admire 
in these, but he could not bear to say so to his simple- 
hearted guide, who having never seen finer, or so fine, 
anywhere else, could hardly realize that finer were to 
be seen even in foreign parts, “ barrin’ it might be in 
Uoome.” The parish chapel in West street, being 
larger, impressed Giacomo more, and he said — “This 
is a nice little church.” 

“ You mane chapel^"' said Jemmy, with unwonted 


72 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


eagerness, “it’s the Prodestauts that has the c/iurcnes,-^ 
it’s chapels we call ours. Don’t say ‘ church,’ dear, 
nekase that’s a Prodestant word, you see.” 

Corrected, but not instructed, Giacomo smiled as 
he turned to take a look at the pictures, and then, 
kneeling a moment before the altar where Jemmy 
was bowing down in rapt devotion, the young man 
thanked God for that blessed unity of faith by which 
the Catholic sees everywhere through life the same 
objects of })ious veneration, the same sacred images 
of saints and martyrs, of the Virgin Mother and her 
Divine Child, and the pictured story of the sublime 
tragedy of man’s redemption which earliest fixed his 
gaze, and stamped the mysteries of faith on his infant 
mind. Softened even to tears, he bowed his head in 
lowly reverence before a picture of the Divine Mother, 
and breathed a prayer for the soul of the earthly mo- 
ther who had taught him to love that heavenly queen. 
“ Now, dear,” said Jemmy, when, leaving the parish 
chapel, they turned up Peter street, now we’ll go 
an’ take a look at the Presentation Convent in Fair 
street, an’, after that, we’ll go to the Sienna Convent, 
out La’rence’s Gate there, where you’ll see the skull 
of the blessed an’ holy martyr, Oliver Plunket. You 
know who he was, I suppose ?” 

Unluckily, Giacomo did not know, but he shrank 
from saying so, and Jemmy went on : “ That was the 
holy Archbishop of Armagh that was hung in Lun’- 
nun beyant on account of his religion.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


73 


“ What wicked people those must have been who 
Dut him to death, and such a death as that !’* 

“ Oh ! poor things, poor things, it’s blind they were, 
not wicked. Maybe it’s jist as bad we’d be ourselves 
if we hadn’t the light of faith to guide us. Wasn’t it 
what Our dear Lord said on the cross when He 
prayed for His enemies — ‘ Father, forgive them for 
they know not what they do ?’ An’ sure it was the 
same with the poor things that hung the blessed an’ 
holy archbishop ? Oh ! God help us all, it's poor, 
poor cratures we’d be if we were left to ourselves, 
anyway !” 

It was with a strange feeling of awe and reverence 
that Giacomo gazed on the ghastly object, so care- 
fully preserved by the Dominican nuns of Drogheda, 
in a rich and elegant case. “ There,” thought he, “.is 
the casket that once contained God's noblest work, 
the thoughtful mind of man, and of a great and good 
man — a man who had the courage to die for his faith.” 
Long he stood, lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the 
vacant “ throne of the mind,” still bearing in its con- 
formation visible traces of the inflexible will, the in- 
domitable energy, the intellectual superiority which 
distinguished the martyred primate of Ireland in the 
ill-omened reign of Charles the Second. 

At length Jemmy touched his arm, and whispered 
that they had other places to go yet, and the night 
would soon be closing in, if they didn’t hurry. So, 
thanking the polite and affable religious, who, in her 
capacious habit of white serge, had been patiently 


74 


THE OLD DOUSE BY liIE BOYNls.. 


Btanding by, after “ showing the house” to the strange 
gentleman, — more from courtesy than necessity, when 
Jemmy was with him — Giacomo followed his guide 
to The Cord to examine the little that remains of the 
old Dominican Abbey ; it was only a stretch of gray, 
or rather blackened wall — 

“ The ruin that Time and the tempest had spared,” 
but it impressed the reverential mind of our young 
Italian with deep soiemnity, being the first that he 
had seen of those numerous remains of ancient piety 
for which he had heard Ireland was famous. 

Turning, at length, to make some remark to his 
companion, he was surprised to find that he had van- 
ished from his side, and it was some time before he 
discovered him kneeling on a grave at the other side 
of. the Abbey- wall. 

“ Some relative of yours, I suppose. Jemmy ?” in- 
quired Giacomo. 

“ My brother, sir,-^poor Phil, that was — he was all 
I bad on earth, but, thank God! he’s gone home be- 
fore me. Well! dear sir, have you seen enough for 
this day, or will you go any farther ?' 

“ I think not. Jemmy, for,” looking at his watch, “ I 
find it is almost three o’clock, and that is dinner- 
hour at Mr. Ackland’s. But what church is that ?’* 
pointing to a tower and steeple which occupied a 
commanding position in the northern part of the 
town. 

“That?” said Jemmy, looking at the object as 
u.sual with half closed eyes, “oh! that’s St. Peter’s 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


75 


Church, a Prodestan’ church, sir, an’ more’s the pity 
for it to have a saint’s name, an’ St. Peter’s above 
all, in regard to him bein’ the first Pope, an’ the 
rock the true Church is built on ! Well ! well ! it’s a 
quare world, anyhow ! But I suppose you often 
hard tell of Oliver Crummel that put thousands an’ 
thousands of poor cratures to death for no other 
rason but bekase they were Catholics?” Yes, Gia- 
como had heard and read of him. “Well! dear, 
when he brought his sojers an’ his guns an’ his whole 
array here to take Drogheda, an’ got in, afther a hard 
fight an’ a long siege of it, there below at St. Mary’s 
Church — Prodestant too, you see, like St. Peter’s I — ■ 
didn’t he burn up hundreds an’ thousands of poor 
Christians in the steeple of that very church where 
the cratures went up thinkin’ to hide themselves. 
Well ! well ! that was a bad deed !” 

“ A bad deed,” said Giacomo, the hot blood rush- 
ing to his cheek and brow ! — “ Why it was a devilish 
deed, and the man that did it must have been more 
devil than man !” 

“ God knovfs, dear, God knows what he was, but, 
anyway, he’s dead an’ judge(^ long ago, an’ it’s no 
use speakin’ hard of him now.” Poor J emmy Nulty I 
rare specimen of primitive charity and meekness 1 
even for Oliver Cromwell he had no harsh words, 
admirable Christian philosopher that he was in his 
lowly simplicity of heart I 

The two had now reached the road, the same that 
led to Mr. Ackland’s back-gate, and, after pointing to 


76 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


the house, not very far distant, Jemmy took his leave, 
with a kind and paternal benediction, gently but 
firmly refusing the silver crown that Giacomo would 
have placed in his hand. 

Rose was in the parlor feeding her linnet when 
Giacomo entered; she said without turning her head — 
“ So you’ve got back. You should have been where 
I was this forenoon.” 

“ And where was that, may I ask ?” 

“ Down at Baltray, a fishing village not far from 
here ; there’s one there wants badly to see you.” 

“ To see mel You surely are not in earnest. Miss 
Rose ?” 

“ Yes, I am. Signor Giacomo ! — there’s an old wo- 
man there, Mabel by name, who having heard of 
your adventure has a great curiosity to see you, and 
see you she must.” 

“ She does me honor,” said Giacomo drily. “ I had 
no idea that any one about here could waste a wish 
on seeing me — least of all, the lady you mention.” 

“ Come now. Signor, don’t be ironical ; Mabel is a 
much more important person with us here than you 
may imagine, and though she be the widow of a fish- 
erman, and the mother of another, she is more of a 
lady by nature than many who ride in their carriage.. 
She was an old servant of my mother’s, and I believe 
of my grandmother’s, and is as much devoted to the 
family still, as though she had no other ties on earth.” 

“ Why, really, you excite my curiosity. Miss Rose !” 
said Giacomo in all earnestness; “ I should like to sco 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 77 

your old woman, — of course none the less so for her 
desiring to see wie.” 

“ Very well, you shall go to Baltray the first fine 
day that comes.” 

During dinner, and the hour or so that followed, 
Giacomo’s account of his ramble through the town, 
and of Jemmy Nulty’s glowing archeological and 
hagiological descriptions, passed the time pleasantly. 
Seated around the fire in the large back-parlor, “ the 
room of the household,” the little circle was just pre- 
pared for the enjoyment of a deliciously quiet even- 
ing, each being precisely in that mood when thought 
finds ready expression, and memory, waking in the 
genial ray, sets the old a-story-telling, and the young 
a-dreaming while they listen to the tales of other 
days.” Miss Ackland sat in the deep shadow at one 
corner of the wide fireplace, — poor Lydia, her life 
was in the shadow ! — opposite her was Rose, half lean- 
ing against her grandfather’s chair, the old gentleman 
and Giacomo occupying the centre, in the full light 
of the cheerful blaze. Rose had been petitioning her 
grandfather for a story. 

“ Well ! I will tell you a story. Rose,” said the old 
man out of a pensive, but not painful reverie ; “ I will 
tell you a story, if your aunt will sing us a song. It’s 
long since I heard my Lydia sing.” 

Miss Ackland smiled, and went at once to the 
piano ; h er father’s wish had all her life been law to 
her — the law of the heart. Running over such a pre* 
lude as one is apt to play when they are undecided 


78 


TUB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


what to sing, she turned a smiling look on lier father, 
then commenced that most exquisite song of Moore’s 
— “ I wish I was by that dim lake,” adapted to one 
of the sweetest of Irish melodies — “ Shule Aroon.”* 
How touchingly mournful the words are, and how fully 
they embodied the secret sorrow that preyed forever 
on Miss Ackland’s heart, the reader may judge, as 
also the tender pathos with which she sang them : 

“ I wish I ^yas by that dim lake, 

Where sinful souls their farewell take 
Of this vain world, and half-way lie 
In the cold shadow, ere they die. 

There, there, far from thee, 

Deceitful world ! my home should be ; 

Where come what might of gloom and pain, 

False hope should ne’er deceive again. 

“ The lifeless sky, the mournful sound 
Of unseen waters falling round ; 

The dry leaves quiv’ring o’er my head, 

Like man, unquiet e’en when dead ! 

These, ay ! these shall wean 
My soul from life’s deluding scene. 

And turn each thought, o’ercharged with gloom. 

Like willows, downward towards the tomb. 

* How much Moore admired this fine air may be judged from 
the fact of his having written two songs to it, one of which, that 
mentioned in the text, is of Sir John Stephenson’s arrangement; 
the other, “Alone in crowds I wander on,’’ may be found in the 
supplement to the Irish Melodies arranged by Sir Henry Bishop. 
Gerald Griffin has immortalized it by his beautiful song “ My 
Mary of the curling hair !” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


79 


“ As they who to their couch at night 
Would win repose, first quench the light, 

So must the hopes that keep this breast 
Awake, be quench’d, ere it can rest. 

Cold, cold this hpart must grow. 

Unmoved by either joy or woe. 

Like freezing founts, where all that’s thrown 
Within their current turns to stone.” 

It seemed as though the petrifying process referred 
to in the last stanza had been going in Miss Ack- 
land’s exterior, at least, while she sang, for by the 
time she had finished the song, her face was pale and 
rigid as that of a marble statue, and nor tear nor 
smile gave token of inward emotion as she passed 
in silence to her seat. A spell seemed even to have 
fallen on her hearers, the spell of human sympathy, 
evoked by the saddest, sweetest sounds that Giacomo 
at least, had ever heard. Mr. Ackland leaned back 
in his chair, one hand shading his eyes, and so he long 
remained, his mind wandering, doubtless, in the dim 
regions of the past where the dead do dwell. It was 
Rose who first broke the silence, which she did with 
a mock sigh that was anything but sympathetic. 

‘‘ Dear me ! Aunt Lydia, what a doleful song that 
w.as ! I protest I feel as though I were like Niobe 
turning into stone. How do you feel. Signor?” 

The question was so ludicrous that it made every 
one smile, and then, the gloomy spell broken, sun- 
shine came again, and, to make sure of it. Rose said, 
“ I’ll sing a song myself. What shall it be, grandpa ?— • 
oh! I know just what will suit!” And, without leav- 


80 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE tOYNE. 


ing her seat, she trolled her merry lay — it was “ Life 
let us cherish,” then deservedly popular in Drogheda 
society. 

“ Why are we fond of toil and care 1 — 

Why choose the rankling thorn to wear, 

-ind heedless by the lily stray 
That blossoms in our way 1” 

repeated Rose, after singing the song ; “ now that is 
what I call sensible, and I mean to practice it all my 
life long I What say you, Signor ? Do ^ou believe 
in people making mopes of themselves because they 
come upon some dark days in life, or meet with some 
disappointment ?” 

Giacomo did not answer ; he looked at Miss Ack- 
land, and saw that, although she tried to force a 
smile, the effort cost her more than she would wish 
to have noticed. 

Rose, my dear,” said she, in a voice as firm as she 
could make it, “ I sincerely hope that your philoso- 
phy may never be put to any very hard ordeal. 
Happy are they who ^ave no ‘ rankling thorn to wear.’ 
But, papa, you forget the story you were to tell Uh.” 

“ The story I meant to tell, my dear, will only in- 
terest our young friend here ; it is not new to you or 
Rose,” 

“ Oh ! no matter for that, grandpapa,” cried Rose, 
eagerly, “ I do love to hear you tell a story, whether 
I heard it before or not.” 

“Well! Giacomo,” said the old gentleman, “the 
story I am about to tell you is a true story, and oo* 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNZ. 


81 


curred within my own memory to a family here in 
Drogheda with whom I was well acquainted.” He 
paused a moment, and a melancholy smile flitted over 
his face, as memory retraced the scenes he was about 
to describe. 



CHAI’TER V. 


“ There is a family here in Drogheda,” said Mr. 
Ackland, “ with whom mine lived on very intimate 
terms in my young days. Their name is Hilton.” 
“Oh! I know now, grandpapa!” cried Rose; her 
grandfather smiled and went on : “ There were sev- 
eral brothers and sisters of these Hiltons when I was 
a young man, and as generally happens in such cases, 
theirs was a pleasant home, and many a happy even- 
ing I spent amongst them with my poor sister who 
is long since dead. The Hiltons were then, and 
what remains of them, are still, Protestants, Episco- 
palians of the old school, that is to say, as near being 
Catholics as any who are not Catholics could be, with 
those genial, old-fashioned ways, which you oftenest 
find in old Catholic families. They were not to say 
wealthy, yet had property sufficient to maintain them 
comfortably, and to some extent elegantly, without 
embarking in trade, of the fluctuations and vicissi- 
tudes of which the old gentleman had a hereditary 
horror, while the younger members were rather dis- 
posed to look down on commercial pursuits and 
‘people in business’ with that unaccountable cour 


TUE OLD UOUSE BY TUE BOYNE. 


83 


tempt only to be found amongst the ‘ gentry’ of Ire- 
land and the ‘ lairds’ of Scotland.” 

“ Yes, to be sure !” said Rose — 

“ ‘ The Laird o’ Cockpeii he’g proud an’ he’s great’ — 
but pray go on, grandpapa, I never heard so much 
about the Hiltons before.” 

“ I have said there was a large family of them in 
those early days of mine, and many of my pleasantest 
recollections are of boating parties, rural excursions, 
and social gatherings in winter evenings, for which we 
and others were mainly indebted to them, old and 
young as they were, — ^for the elders of the family were 
just as fond of social enjoyment as the youngest 
amongst us. But time passed on, and the family cir- 
cle at The Grange (as their place was, and is still, 
called) began to break up ; the young people married 
and scattered away hither and thither ; two of them 
died unmarried, and my dear old friends were left in 
age with only their eldest son, William, who had mar- 
ried early in life, and when his parents were at length 
left to the solitude of their then lonely dwelling, 
brought his wife and three little children to live with 
them at The Grange. Fortunately, William Hilton 
and his wife were both of a cheerful and lively dispo- 
sition, and they so managed matters that the old 
couple had, to the last, as much social enjoyment as 
their age permitted ; the house was as pleasant for 
visitors as ever, and at times the surviving members 
of the family came together again from their homes, 
more or less distant, under the old paternal roof. 


84 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


But the time came at last when the parent stem was 
broken ; first the father, then, a year or two after, the 
mother, -went to sleep in the old family-vault, and 
William Hilton was master of The Grange. By this 
olrne I had married, and your mother, Lydia, was 
quite a favorite with Mrs. Hilton, as my poor sister 
Rhoda had been with her dear old mother-in-law 
some fifteen years before. After the death of the old 
people. The Grange did seem somewhat lonely, and 
my wife and I spent as much of our time there as we 
could spare from home, where we had two little oneS; 
yourself, Lydia, and your brother Alexander, Rose’s 
father, claiming the mother’s attention. But it was 
not in William’s nature, or Susan’s either, to be long 
dull or despondent, and in the course of a year or so 
the old house began to look like itself again, and the 
intimate friends of the family began to drop in, as of 
old, for an evening’s entertainment, which was cheer- 
fully and kindly given ; then others came, until the 
gloom of death was gradually banished, and the Hil- 
ton homestead was blithe and happy as ever. It was 
just then — when the sunshine had, at length, pre- 
vailed over the dark clouds of mourning, and the 
world was again bright for Ihe Hiltons, that a strange 
circumstance occurred, which has made their name 
famous in our old borough,” 

Here the old man stopped to stir up the fire which 
had been going down somewhat; Giacomo drew a 
long breath, as one whose attention had been over- 
strained, and all of the little circle, as if by one com- 


THE OLD IIOOSE BY THE BOYNE. 


85 


mon impulse, drew their seats closer around the 
hearth. First,” said Mr. Ackland, “ let us have some 
more wood on the fire — Lydia, my dear, he so good 
as to ring !” The wood was brought, the fire burned 
cheerily, and the story was resumed. 

“It was one night in mid- winter that Mrs. Hilton 
was taken with some sudden illness of an alarming 
nature ; the whole household wa 5 quickly astir, and 
James, the man-servant, was sent into town for the 
family doctor. He had scarcely arrived, and exam- 
ined his patient, when James was again dispatched 
for another physician, the most eminent in the town, 
and all night long the two remained, watching the 
symptoms of the strange disease, which bafiSed their 
skill, and defeated all their efforts to arrest its pro- 
gress. Towards morning the fatal truth was an- 
nounced to the afflicted husband, and the four young 
children were brought to the bedside of their dying 
mother to receive her blessing and last farewell. The 
doctors left soon after, having done all that their art 
could suggest, and all in vain, for as they told Mr. 
Hilton, death was there, and all the doctors in the 
world could do nothing for the patient. The gray 
winter’s dawn revealed a mournful scene; the wife 
and mother had just departed, the voice of mourn- 
ing filled the house,, and the pall of death had fallen 
again on the so-lately cheerful household of The 
Grange. A little while after, my wife and I were there, 
word having been sent us of the sad catastrophe, and 
never shall I forget the expression of poor Hilton’s 


86 


TUB. OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


face as, meeting ns at the door of the death-room, he 
said — ‘She is gone — Susan is dead!’ What could 
I say what could any one say ? So I wrung his hand 
in silence and followed him to the bed where his wife 
lay — not yet ‘ laid out.’ 

“ Two mournful days, and as many dreary nights 
passed away, and then Susan Hilton was laid in the 
family-vault, by the side of her mother-in-law who 
had died little more than a year before. 

“ The evening succeeding the funeral, which had 
taken place early in the day, Fanny and I went to 
keep poor William Hilton company in his now lonely 
dwelling. Cheerful we could not be ourselves, and 
we did not try to feign what would have been un- 
natural, and painful to the heart -stricken mourner. 
So after the children were gone to bed, my wife her- 
self going up to see them comfortably settled for the 
night, we three sat together by the fireside in the 
parlor where so many happy hours had been spent, 
talking of her who was taken so suddenly from our 
midst — recalling her fine and amiable qualities, and 
dwelling with mournful tenderness on the loveable 
traits of her character. Sad at heart we all were to 
think that we should see her no more on earth. 

“ All at once a ring came to the front-door, and 
William Hilton started, then said with a sad smile, 
turning to us — ‘ If poor Susan were not dead, I should 
eay that was her ring.’ 

“ Again the bell rang, louder, sharper than before 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


87 


and the two female servants rushed into the room 
pale with terror. 

“ ‘ Why do you not open the door ?’ said their mas- 
ter in surprise. 

“ ‘ The Lord save us, sir,’ cried one of them, ‘ it’s so 
like the mistress’ ring that — that — oh sir, there it is 
again !’ 

“ Mr. Hilton did not take time to chide them for 
their folly, but rising from his seat, he went himself 
to open the door ; as if by a mechanical impulse my 
wife and I followed — the door was opened, into the 
hall glided a spectral figure, and on into the parlor it 
passed. We all followed, the servants shrieked, and 
hid their face — so did my wife — it was Mrs. Hilton in 
her winding-sheet ! 

“ ‘ Great God, Susan, is it you ?’ said Mr. Hilton 
approaching the figure. 

“ * Yes, William, it is I — oh ! I am cold — cold !’ 

“ ‘ William, are you afraid of me ?’ ” 

“ The next moment the wife was clasped to her 
husband’s heart, and we knew that Susan Hilton was 
before us, not in the spirit only, but in the flesh ! N'o 
time was lost, you may be assured, in putting her to 
bed, and administering such restoratives as her half- 
frozen state required. When thoroughly warmed, 
the poor lady fell into a heavy, unbroken sleep, from 
which she did not awake till the morning was far ad- 
vanced. 

“ When Mrs. Hilton opened her eyes, and looked 
around, her first word was — ‘James, where is James? 


88 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


« ‘ Why do you ask, roy love ?’ said Mr. Hilton , 

‘ do you want him ?’ 

“ Mrs. Hilton only repeated the question, when it 
was ascertained that James had left the house the 
previous evening, and had not yet returned. Hear- 
ing this, Mrs. Hilton raised her left hand, and fixed 
her eyes on the ring finger, on which a fresh wound 
was plainly discernible, the finger, moreover, being 
much swollen. 

“ ‘ Then it was not a dream,’ said she, and she shud- 
dered. • 

“ ‘ What do you mean, Susan ?’ inquired her hus- 
band. 

“ ‘ I was buried then — that is, I was placed in the 
vault — and James did cut my finger. Tell me how 
it all happened — was I dead ?’ 

“ ‘ It seemed so, darling,’ said her husband, in a 
soothing tone ; we were all alarmed by the wildness 
of her look. ‘ Ho you not remember taking leave of 
us all ?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, yes, I remember.’ 

“‘Well! you died, as we thought, a short time 
after.’ 

Oh ! I see it all, now, — Almighty God be praised ! 
I was dead and buried, yet now live and breathe above 
ground again. Oh William 1 oh my friends, help me 
to thank our merciful God, unworthy as I am of His 
60 great goodness ! But, under God, I owe my es- 
cape to James 1’ 

“ ‘ Why, how is that, Susan ? what can you mean ?' 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


8 ^ 


“ ‘ I mean that James saved my life, tho-ugh quite 
unintentionally, I have no doubt. I remember now 
perfectly the sensations I experienced at the moment 
when I thought myself dying — the mortal terror 
that, as it were, froze my blood, and benumbed every 
faculty of my soul at the thought that I was passing 
into the dread presence of the Supreme Judge ; the 
next thing I was conscious of was a deathly coldness 
through all my frame, as if of a person who had lain 
all night on the ground in the open air ; then I felt 
that one of my fingers was cut and bleeding, I opened 
my eyes and looked up ; there was J ames bending 
over me, a knife in his hand, his face plainly seen in 
the light from a dark lanthorn placed on my breast 
as I lay in the coffin. He was as pale as death, and 
I could see that his hands trembled. “ Oh James !” 
said I, and immediately he dropped the knife and ran 
away, fortunately leaving the lanthorn behind him, 
and the door unlocked, so that I was able to get out, 
and make my way home. My greatest difficulty was 
the churchyard gate, which being locked, I was forced 
to clamber over it ; you know it is not high, and be- 
ing of open iron work, I had sufficient resting-place 
on either side for my poor frozen feet.’ 

“ It was all clear now : Mrs. Hilton had been only 
in a kind of trance when she seemed to be dead ; her 
marriage ring and a valuable guard-ring had been 
left on, the finger being too much swollen to remove 
them, and this circumstance having come to James’ 
knowledge, he possessed himself of the key of the 


90 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


vault, and went to secure the prize before decom- 
position should have set in. Finding that he could 
not take ofi’ the rings, the man was proceeding to cut 
off the finger, when the lady recovered from her 
death-like trance, and the robber of the tomb fled in 
dismay.” 

“ But what became of him ?” asked Giacomo ; 
“ was he ever seen again ?” 

“ Oh ! indeed he was,” said Rose, answering for her 
grandfather ; “ I often heard it told how Mrs. Hilton 
prevailed on her husband to hunt him out, and settle 
a small pension on him. For himself he could never 
forgive the fellow, but Mrs. Hilton would always have 
it that he was the means of saving her life.” 

“ And did the lady live long after ?” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Ackland, “ she lived for full four- 
teen years, and had several children after her wonder- 
ful resuscitation. Some of her children and grand- 
children are still living in the old manor-house, though 
she and her husband have been many, many years 
tenants of the tomb where she once lay a living 
corpse for nigh twenty-four hours.”* 

“ It is a strange story,” said Giacomo thoughtfully, 
“but I heard another of a somewhat similar kind said 
to have occurred in Cologne on the Rhine.” 

“ Yes,” said Miss Ackland, “ I remember reading 
the story to which you allude : I believe it is com- 

* This story is true in all its principal details. The name of 
tlio family U chang id, however, for obvious reasons. 


TUK OLD HODSE BY TUE BOYNE. 


91 


memorated by a monument in that city, called the 
Monument of the Dead-Alive.” 

“ Dear me !” exclaimed Rose with a shudder, 
‘^what a position to find one’s self in on awaking 
from a trance ! — lying in a coffin in a dismal vault 
with the dead all around, and in Mrs. Hilton’s case, 
a robber before one in the ungracious act of sawing off 
one’s finger ! Only fancy ! — I wonder she didn’t lose 
her senses, or die in reality of pure fright. I’m sure 
/should!” 

“ You don’t know, my dear, you don’t know,” said 
her grandfather, stroking her dark tresses with his 
hand. “ But it grows late, had we not better say our 
night-prayers, Lydia, and retire? I know not how 
you youngsters may feel, but I feel disposed to sleep.” 

Haney being summoned, the Rosary and other 
prayers were said, and the little household was soon 
at rest within, while the snow fell, and wind blew 
without. 

Two or three days had passed before the roads 
were in such condition as to permit the visit to 
Baltray. Even then the walking was not very good, 
so Connor was sent for, and one clear bright morning 
Miss Ackland, Rose, and Giacomo started on their 
visit to Mabel. They found the old woman cowering 
over the hearth, alone in the cottage, her son and 
grandson being out in their boat and her daughter-in- 
law gone “ into town” to dispose of the last “ take.” 
The children, she said, were “ about the doors some- 
where, divartin’ themselves.” 


92 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ And how do you find yourself to-day, Mabel 
said Miss Ackland stooping over her. 

“Middlin’, dear, middlin' — ^but better that than 
worse. How is all with you at the house ?” 

“ Quite well, Mabel, thank you !” 

“ Is any one with you. Miss Lyddy ?” For the old 
woman’s sight was wearing dim. 

“ Yes, Mabel, 7’m with her,” said Rose in her 
merry girlish way, “ and there’s somebody else with 
her, too ! — Guess, now, who it is !’ And Rose placed 
herself between Giacomo and the old woman. 

“ Och ! don’t I know well enough who it is. Miss 
Rose, agra ! didn’t I tell you to bring the young gentle- 
man till I’d see him I” 

Reaching her hand to Miss Ackland to help her up, 
Mabel raised herself from her crouching position on 
the hearth, and turned slowly round, fixing her black 
eyes, still keen and sharp though somewhat dim with 
age, on the face of the young stranger, who smiled 
at the earnestness with which she scrutinized him. 

“ It’s a good face,” said she, turning at length to 
Miss Ackland, “ it’s strange to me, though,” and she 
shook her head, then peering again into the young 
man’s face — “ there’s nothing in it I ever seen before, 
barrin’ the smile, an’ I’d know that anywhere, how- 
ever he came by it. God mark you with grace, 
child!” And with a suddenness which surprised 
even Miss Ackland and Rose, accustomed as they 
were to her strange ways, the crone laid her yellow 
wrinkled hand on Giacomo’s head, the while her fail- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


93 


mg memory seemed to search in the past for the 
broken link of some familiar association. “ The dark 
grave and the deep say keeps ever their own,” she 
muttered, “ but there’s quare things happens some- 
times, — an’ Him above can do more than that. Still 
it's all dark — dark — never seen him in my drames — ■ 
I’m glad to see you, young gentleman I” she added in 
a louder voice, with the incoherence of a failing 
mind. 

“I thank you, good Mabel!” said Giacomo, im- 
pressed in a way he could not understand, by the 
old woman’s singular manner, her tall figure only 
slightly stooped, her old-fashioned apparel neat and 
clean, though poor, and the keen intelligence that 
flashed at times from the eyes that gleamed in the 
weather-browned face under the red kerchief which 
formed the woman’s head-gear. 

“ Why, he spakes English,” Mabel said with a start, 
once more addressing Miss Ackland. The latter ex- 
plained by saying that the young gentleman had 
been early sent to school to learn English, his family, 
though Italians, being much engaged in trade with 
English and Irish seaports. 

“ To be sure, honey, to be sure,” said Mabel, turn- 
ing her eyes again on the young Italian — “ it’s aisy 
seen that he’s a foreigner, he’s so yallow, though 
comely enough, sure! Well! well! I thought — God 
help me ! I don’t know what I thought. Ah ! Miss 
Lyddy, dear an’ darlin’, I do be thinkin’ quare things 
— quare things, alanna. when I’m sittin’ here all alone 


94 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


by myself. An’ then, when night comes, I see it all 
over again in my drames. Livin’ an’ dead are about 
me then, an’ I see everything — everything. You 
wouldn’t b’lieve, Miss Lyddy, what things comes 
nto this ould head o’ mine when I’m lyin’ broad awake 
even, in the dead o’ night. If I’d tell you I’m sure 
you’d laugh at me — but anyway I couldn’t tell you — • 
it’s best not. But there — see how forgetful I’m 
growin’ — I hadn’t the manners to ax one o’ you to 
sit down.” And with instinctive politeness she tried 
to wipe a seat, a three-legged stool, it was — and push 
it over to where Miss Ackland stood. Before she 
could offer another to Rose, Miss Ackland told her 
not to trouble herself 

“I see you have your little black tea-pot by the 
fire,” she said smiling, “ and I know of old you don’t 
like tea that is too long drawing, — so we’ll leave you, 
Mabel, as Connor is waiting outside with the car, and 
I intend to drive our young friend here as far as the 
Tower. So, you see we have no time to lose, for the 
days are short, and papa would be anxious, too, if we 
staid out over long.” 

“ He would, asthore, he would,” said Mabel, fol- 
lowing them to the door. “ But listen hither. Miss 
Lyddy,” and she lowered her voice to a whisper, and 
bent her head close to the lady — “ don’t go too near 
the say wid him — don’t, now, honey! you don’t know 
what fate might be on hini, an’, no matther who he 
is, there’s something in him that one’s heart warms to. 
Ah ! God’s blessin’ be about you,” as Miss Ackland 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


95 


lingering a moment beliind, placed something in her 
hand, “ sure you’re always givin’ me, one way an’ an- 
other. Well! more’s the pity,” she soliloquized, look- 
ing after her, “ more’s the pity that she was crossed 
in her young days, an’ that heavy grief came upon 
her. An’ the heavy, heavy grief it was, an’ will be, 
too, till the earth covers her. None but God Him- 
self can give her comfort now, for all she looks the 
same as ever !” 

“ Where are we going now. Aunt Lydia ?” Rose 
asked, when they were again seated on the car, the 
two ladies one side, Giacomo the other, Connor on 
his elevated seat between, — “ Did I hear you speak 
of the Tower ?” 

Yes, my dear, I am going to show Giacomo one 
of our sights, so long as we are in the vicinity.” 

A short drive along the river edge brought them 
to the mouth of the Boyne, and in sight of a tall, 
square tower of a whitish, or rather a dull yellowish 
color, standing on the beach, rising lone amid the 
gray sands and pebbles that fringed the river and the 
sea. It was a lonely place, voiceless ever, save the 
sound of the waters and the scream of the curlew; 
dreary as solitude could make it, and with no beauty 
to cheer the eye, except what it borrowed from the 
sea- wave’s glancing sheen, — the landward view was 
dull and monotonous. Yet the scene, wild and lonely 
as it was, struck Giacomo with a feeling new and 
strange. The so’itude of the place weighed upon hia 


96 


THE OLD HODHE BV THE BOYNE. 


senses, and yet the hushed repose of all around had a 
soothing effect on his mind. 

“ What a wild place !” he said at length ; “ is this 
the Tower we came to see, Miss Ackland ?” 

“ Yes, Giacomo, this is Maiden Tower.” 

“ Maiden Tower !” he repeated; “ and why is it so 
called?” 

“ The story is too long to tell you now,” the lady 
smiling replied ; “ Connor and his horse would have 
little reason to thank me were I to keep them here 
on a December day while I related an old-time legend. 
Mark the place well, however, and this evening you 
shall hear what tradition says of the lone tower on 
the beach. There is a good sea-view from the top, 
but it is too cold to go up to-day.” 

“ But the Lady’s Finger, Aunt Lydia,” said Rose, 
laughing, “ you forget that,” pointing out to Giacomo 
a sort of obelisk not a third as high as the tower, 
standing at a little distance landward ; “ is not that a 
delicate finger for a lady to point with ?” 

‘‘Yours is, at any rate,” thought Giacomo, as he 
marked, perhaps for the first time, the rare beauty of 
the little outstretched hand. 

“ Does tradition say anything of the Finger, Aunt 
Lydia? I really forget, but I suppose it does,— and if 
it does not, we can say it ourselves, for the Lady of 
the Finger must be the Maiden of the Tower.” 

“ It would seem so, Rose,” said her aunt, “ but I 
regret to say that tradition is silent with regard to the 
obelisk. Come, let us go, we shall be late for dinner, 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


97 


and you know your grandpapa does not like to be 
kept waiting.-' 

Kono there could read the sorrowful meaning that 
was in Miss Ackland’s look as she cast her eyes 
around before leaving the place. She was thinking 
of a time long years before w^hen in the bright sum- 
mer-time she had wandered on thef beach by Maiden 
Tower with one who shared her every thought and 
feeling — one w'hom she should see never more on 
earth. Other friends were then around, dear and 
valued, some of whom were now also with the dead, 
but what were they all to that sorrowing heart 
filled with one beloved image ? His deep voice mur- 
mured in the sea, and whispered in the wind that 
sighed around the tower. 

That evening when her father dosed in his arm- 
chair, and Rose was engaged with a volume of 
Scott’s poetry, Giacomo ventured to remind Miss 
Ackland of the promised legend. 

“ It is both short and simple,” she replied, “ but 
suflSciently tinged with the marvellous — and the im- 
probable,” she added smiling — “ to keep its hold on 
the popular imagination. Mind I do not vouch for 
the truth of what I am going to relate, 

“ ‘ I tell the lale as ’twas told to me.’ 

The story goes that in very ancient times, probably 
those of the Crusades, a lady of this vicinity had the 
grief to see her lover go off to fight in foreign parts, 
promising, however, to return in a year ftxd a day— 
the charmed period of old stories. It was agreed 


98 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


on by this sorrowful pair of lovers that if the knight 
— for such, it appears, was his dignity — succeeded to 
his wishes abroad, and came home safe to his lady- 
love, he should hoist a white flag when his vessel 
Reared the Boyne’s mouth, but if, on the contrary, 
uny mishap had befallen him, and that the vessel re- 
turned without him, a black flag, streaming from the 
mast-head, should give notice of the sad event. The 
knight departed on glory bent, and his lady-love, 
partly to beguile the first months of absence, and 
to provide a lofty place whence she might watch the 
more constantly when the time of his return came 
near, and catch the first sight of his well-knowm bark, 
built the tower you saw to-day. The year and a day 
had just elapsed when a sail, which her heart told her 
was /i2s, hove in sight on the far horizon ; near and 
more near it came, and already the lone watcher be- 
gan to anticipate the rapturous joy of the meeting, 
now so close at hand,when,woe of woes ! her straining 
eyes beheld the sable ensign of death slowly unfurled , 
and floating from the mast-head ; the sight was more 
than she could bear, and she cast herself from the 
height of her tower into the sea, and perished in 
sight of her wretched lover, whose shriek of despair 
echoed far over the waters, and perhaps reached even 
her dying ear ; he had only hoisted the black flag to 
try the strength and sincerity of her afiection. Such, 
Griacomo, is the legend of Maiden Tower. Local 
history, to be sure, gives a difierent account of it s 
origin, but, you know, I have only to deal with the 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


more romantic version told by the fishermen of the 
coast, and the peasantry of the adjoining country. 
You smile : I see you are somewhat skeptical in such 
matters.” 

“ Perhaps I am,” he replied ; “ at all events, one 
cannot help thinking that there must have been some 
very silly people in those days, of which such wild 
tales are told. If there never had been damsels foolish 
enough to throw themselves into the sea in a fit of 
disappointment, I am sure people would never hav^ 
imagined such things when telling old stories.” 

“ Very true,” said Miss Ackland, the deep shadow 
gathering over her fair brow; “but, although we may 
justly despise the folly, not to say wickedness, of any 
one professing the Christian faith who would allow 
passion to run away with their reason, or induce them 
to shrink as cowards from the stern battle of life, I 
would not have you think or speak lightly of that love 
which, under proper control, is capable of producing 
great results. There is a love, Giacomo, that is 
stronger than death, and over which time has no 
power. Oh ! believe me there is I” 

There was something in Miss Ackland’s voice 
when she said this, that even more than the words 
themselves made Giacomo start ; he looked at her, but 
her eyes were fixed on vacancy, and a strange smile, 
as of exultation, was playing about her parted ]ips, 
giving a new and more spiritual expression to her 
features. Ail at once the smile vanished, and Miss 
Ackland looking up perceived that she had been the 


100 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


object of Giacomo’s keen scrutiny; she colored, and 
with a sort of impatient gesture called Rose to bring 
over her book and read aloud. “ I see papa is just 
waking up,” said she, “ but, never mind, read a little 
louder, so that he may hear you. I know he likes 
Marmion.’ ” 

The poem was new to the young Italian, and its 
beauties lost nothing by Rose’s reading. Her voice 
was musical and well modulated, and it was like a 
dream, Giacomo thought, to sit and look on her bright 
young face, and hear her tell over in sweet linging 
numbers, that story of tove and chivalry and old ro- 
mance. 



CHAPTER VI. 


JIext day brought Giacomo letters from home 
there was one from his young sister Maddalena, full 
of the tenderest affection, and all the exuberant joy 
of an almost childish heart, at the complete recovery 
of a beloved brother, with the enthusiastic gratitude 
of early youth for those already dear, though un- 
known friends, who bad supplied to him in his ut- 
most need, the place ^f “ the loved ones at home.” 
The letter was in Itah^m, but when read in English 
to Miss Ackland, that Udy failed not to discover, in 
addition to the amiable feelings already mentioned, a 
dreamy, pensive charao^^ir in the v/riter, very unlike 
the idea she had forme^^ of Giacomo’s sister. Not 
that the young man waa himself either prosy or com- 
mon-place, and there was in him poetry enough for 
all purposes of ordinary I’fe, but the poetry lay very 
far down in his heart, undor divers strata of common 
sense, sound judgment, and other such qualities 
whereof the lords of creation are wont to take the 
full merit to themselves. Now with Maddalena it 
was easy to see that the ca^e was entirely different ; 
she was evidently a creature of feeling and sentiment, 


102 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTXE. 


and Miss Ackland somehow felt attracted towards 
her as people seldom are to those whom they have 
never seen. 

There was also a letter from his father, which 
seemed to disconcert the young man more than a 
little. He had only read a fev/ lines when he rose 
from his feet, and taking the letter to the window, 
stood there while he finished its perusal. Even then 
he did not return immediately to his seat, and at last 
Miss Ackland expressed her hope that there was no 
bad news in the letter. 

“Well! I know not whether you may consider it 
bad news or good,” he said, turning with a smile that 
was not cheerful, “my father insists on my going 
aome immediately.” 

“ Is it possible ? why I thought you were to remain 
with us over Christmas.” 

“ I thought so, too, but it seems my father will not 
have it so.” 

“Well! I am really sorry,” said Miss Ackland, 
“ but, after all, it is nothing more than might be ex- 
pected. It is natural, you know, that your father 
should wish to have you at that festive season — the 
more so as your poor mother is dead, and only your 
sister now at home. But, indeed, it is far from being 
good news to me — or to any of us, I am sure.” 

Giacomo did not tell Miss Ackland that his father 
had given him. peremptory orders to return by the 
very first opportunity that ofiered, and not to remain 
one hour longer than he could possibly avoid. Ilia 


THE CLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 103 

thanks to the Acklands, too, were so cold, so mea- 
sured, that the young man could not repeat them in 
the same way, and he felt mortified and distressed 
to think that his lather should show so little grati- 
tude where so much was due. For himself, though 
naturally anxious to see his father and sister again, 
he felt half reluctant to leave a place where a new 
era of existence had dawned on him — a place that 
had so many agreeable associations, and where such 
an indescribable charm hung around every object. 
Nestling, as it were, in that quiet nook of the busy 
world, with only a few companions, each interesting 
in their own degree, and their ways so different from 
any he had ever seen before, so simple, so natural, so 
refined, and in one, at least, so piquant, that his so- 
journ there was more a pleasant dream than one of 
life’s realities. That short period had, he felt, thrown 
his thoughts into a different channel, and given him 
hopes and aspirations new and undefined, but none 
the less sensible. Now that the dream was suddenly 
broken, and the visions it had brought melting away 
in the cold vapors of every-day life, he felt how very 
sweet it had been. With the poet he sadly thought — 
“ It is all but a dream at tbe best,” 

And when liappiest soonest o’er,” — 
but there was no help for it now, and Giacomo 
Malvili was not the one to indulge in idle or vain re- 
grets, when life’s duties called him hence. He en- 
deavored to turn his thoughts on home, and look 
forward with the unmixed joy he used to feel to a 


104 


THE OLD HOUSE DV THE BOYNE. 


return thither after even a short absence ; he thought 
of the father of whom he was so proud, and of the 
gentle, graceful sister of whom lie was so fond, but, 
do as he would, with those dear home-images would 
come the gay, laughing face of Rose, looking arch 
and mischievous through her brown curls, and the 
sweet, thoughtful look of Miss Ackland, with her 
winning smile, and her kind motherly accents, sweet 
as music to his ear. Mr. Ackland had his full share 
in Giacomo’s regret, and even old ISTancy was not for- 
gotten, for he had won his way to the old woman’s 
heart, and had latterly been admitted to the special 
privilege of a seat at evening by the kitchen fire when 
it pleased him to stroll in. This was a flattering 
compliment, as Giacomo was made to feel, for it 
placed him directly on a family footing in the house, 
and gave him the benefit of Nancy’s songs and stories, 
in common with Rose, who much affected the good 
woman’s company, as before indicated. Even the 
snug, cozy kitchen, with its bright turf fire and well- 
swept hearth, had, then, its share of pleasant asso- 
ciations, and, perhaps, fully as many as the parlor, for 
reasons which the younger portion of our readers 
will be at no loss to understand. 

When the family met at dinner, Giacomo’s ap- 
proaching departure was, of course, the first and^ 
most important topic. Miss Ackland looked graver 
because of it, and her father still more so, but it was 
no little mortifying to Giacomo’s vanity, if vanity he 
had, to see the careless indifference of Rose, who 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


105 


was, indeed, gayer, if possible, than usual, and seemed 
little disposed to trouble herself about who went or 
who stayed, so long as her aunt and grandpapa re- 
mained, and Nancy and the cat ! That such was the 
case, she made Giacomo sensible in various ways, 
and he felt humbled and not a little annoyed by the 
girl’s total indifference. She has no heart !” was tho 
thought that fixed itself in his mind, and he came, 
accordingly, to the wise conclusion that he, too, would 
be gay, and cheerful, just to let Miss Rose see that 
he cared as little about her as she did about him. 

In the evening, Mr. Ackland would have Giacomo 
play backgammon with him, “ probably,” he said, 
“ for the last time.” Whilst the men were being ar- 
ranged on the board, the old man chatted on. “ Gia- 
como,” said he, “ what would you think of seeing a 
blind man play backgammon ?” 

“Well! I cannot say what I would think, Mr. 
Ackland, — -but, at all events, it is a sight I do not ex- 
pect to see.” 

“Yet I saw it, Giacomo, and that many a time.” 

Giacomo’s surprise was not greater than that of 
Miss Ackland. “ Why, papa, are you serious ?” she 
asked. 

“ Perfectly serious, Lydia 1 You have often heard 
me speak of Arthur O’Neil, the blind harper, who 
was, in my young days, an occasional visitor at our 
house?” Of course Miss Ackland had, and she 
looked much interested. Rose’s curiosity was also 
excited, and laying down Mary Howitt’s Poems 


s 


106 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

which she had been reading, she leaned ovei thfl 
back of her grandpapa’s chair to hear “ all about the 
blind harper,” whose fame was not unknown even to 
her. 

“ All I mean to tell now, Rosey, is not much,” said 
Mr. Ackland, “for the men are arranged, and we 
must go on with our game.” 

“But do you mean to say, grandpapa, that O’Neil 
could play backgammon and he blind ?” 

“ Yes, my dear, and draughts, too;* — I have seen 
my father and he play at backgammon or draughts 
for hours at a time. 

“ Then he was admitted to the society of gentle- 
men ?” said Giacomo. 

“ Indeed he was, and not by courtesy, but by 
right, for he was a gentleman himself in every sense 
of the word, and a most agreeable, entertaining 
companion, apart from his music. The first houses 
in the province of Ulster, and as far beyond its limits 
as he chose to go, were at all times open to him. 
Amongst his friends and patrons was that venerable 
historian and scholar, Charles O’Connor of Ballinagar. 
Indeed, the noblest in the land welcomed him to 
their social board. He was proud of his ancestry, 
and had the crest of the O’Neils engraved on his 
silver coat-buttons.” 

“ I believe, papa,” said Miss Ackland, “ O’Neil was 

* For a particular account of this celebrated man, see Himb 
ing's valuable work on the Ancient Music of Ireland. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 


107 


not addicted to those low vices which disgraced 
so many of the itenerant harpers of these latter 
days.” 

“ No, my dear, he was not. On the contrary, 
his habits were those of a high-bred gentleman, and 
although formed himself to shine in society, he was 
not fond of large or mixed companies, and never in- 
dulged in any excess. He was, indeed, very exclusive 
in his choice of company, and only relished what was 
really good. Blind though he was, he was scrupu- 
lously neat, too, in his personal appearance.” 

“ But how did he manage to dress himself, grand- 
papa ?” asked Rose, girl-like. 

“ My dear child, he never had it to do ; he always 
had his body-servant with him, besides another to 
carry his harp. But oh ! that harp ! when I think of 
the music he used to draw from it, my old ears tingle 
even now, and my heart thrills with something of the 
delight with which I used to hear him. Poor O’Neil I 
last of our national minstrels ! how often your magic 
strains echoed through this very room !” 

The tears came into the old man’s eyes, and he 
leaned back in his chair, evidently opJ)ressed by the 
weight of rushing memories that 

“ Lock’d in the countless chambers of the brain” 
came with the one awaked. For a moment all were 
silent, even Rose, but that mercurial young lady was 
never long in that condition of being, — “ What !” she 
cried, “ here in this room ? — So that dear, delightfu? 
old harper used to play in this very room ?” 


108 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


‘‘ Yes, my dear, and in various other rooms of our 
old domicile,” said her grandpapa smiling at her 
childish eagerness. 

“ Well! now, that is charming,” and Rose clapped 
her hands, “ I am so glad to know it 1” 

“ And why ?” said her aunt. 

“ Oh 1 because, it is such a nice new — no, old picture 
for my memory’s cabinet. I had many images there 
already of the old people and young people, that used 
to be here in old times, and I have such pleasure when 
I’m all alone sometimes, or when we’re all sitting here 
of an evening, imagining what they used to say and 
do, but now I have got one better than all, and he' 
fills up the picture so nicely ! I’m sure I shall often 
dream of that heavenly music grandpapa describes, 
and the blind old harper playing backgammon !” 

“ By the bye, that reminds me of our game, Gia- 
como,” said Mr. Ackland, “ I was forgetting all about 
it.” 

“ An astonishing coincidence, papa, Mr. Brodigan 
would call that.” 

“ Talking of Brodigan, Lydia,” said her father, “ he 
has not been here for a long time. Take care, Gia- 
como, or I shall take that man on your deux point. 
Aces ! upon my word I now, I have you!” 

“ Talk of soiTiehody and he will appear,” said Miss 
Ackland, as aloud knock was heard at the hall-door; 
“ now I shouldn’t wonder if that were Mr. Brodigan.” 

It was Mr. Brodigan, and his fine, full, manly voice 
was soon heard in the hall, good-humoredly calling 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


109 


r^ancy to account for having allowed him to knock 
wice. Nancy said something in reply. 

“ Oh ! yes, that’s always the way with you women,” 
said the voice, as Rose opened the parlor door, “ I 
never knew one of you yet that hadn’t her excuse 
ready. Ah ! there you are. Miss Rose, as blooming 
as your namesake — a December rose, ha ! ha ! — and 
my old friend, looking as well — as well as can be — 
and Miss Lydia — ^handsome as ever — how are you 
all ? — eh ! who’s this ?” seeing Giacomo, after he 
had shaken hands with all the rest, and was placing 
his large, portly figure in an arm-chair by the fire. 

Giacomo was formally introduced, with the addi- 
tional circumstance of his recent escape from ship- 
wreck. 

“ Oh ! the San Pietro ! So this is the young gen- 
tleman whom you took home — ahem ! invited here, 
after the wreck ? — A fine fellow, upon my honor !— 
That reminds me of that dashing Captain Melville 
whom I used to meet here, and who was lost at sea, 
afterwards. Quite a coincidence, eh ?” 

Miss Ackland rose and walked with an unsteady 
step to the table where her work lay; her father 
coughed and fidgetted in his chair, then olFered his 
snuff-box to Mr. Brodigan, drew the blazing faggots 
together on the brazen dogs on the hearth, and finally 
aske^ what sort of weather it was out of doors. 

“Splendid weather for Christmas, Mr. Ackland, if 
it only lasts. Keen frost above, and white crisp snow 
under foot. Fine bracing ’weather, sir !” 


110 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


This worthy gentleman, a corn-merchant of the town, 
and a fair sample of its burghers, was a new manifes- 
tation of character to the young Italian, and he list- 
ened with pleasure to his round mellow voice, as he 
talked over the various local topics of the day, ^vith 
Hr. Ackland. It was the old gentleman’s custom to 
take one glass of punch every night, before he retired, 
and Mr. Brodigan, of course, joined him on that even- 
ing, declaring, upon his word, that there was nothing 
better after a smart walk of a cold winter night than 
a good “tumbler of punch.” But although Mr. 
Brodigan admitted the efficacy of the punch as a 
specific for cold, he was by no means addicted to its 
use, and seldom went beyond “a tumbler or so,” 
saying that “ enough was as good as a feast.” But 
he waxed mellow under the genial influence of the 
fire, and the glass of punch, and asked the ladies if 
they wouldn’t favor him with some music. Of course 
they would ; Miss Ackland played. Rose sang “Gaily the 
Troubadour touched his Guitar,” Mr. Brodigan beat- 
ing time on the table with his fingers, and humming 
the air at the same time in a way that made Giacomo 
wish to hear him sing. His wish was gratified, for 
Rose, having finished her song, said — “ How, Mr. 
Brodigan, it is your turn. You will favor us with a 
song, will you not ?” 

“ Of course I will. Miss R )se ! — you know it^is an 
old saying that it is bad enough to be a bad singer, 
and not be bad about it. You know all my songSi 
ladies, — now tell me what I shall sing ?” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Ill 


“ Oh ! you know my favorite,” said Miss Ackland. 

“ And mine, Mr. Brodigan,” added Bose. 

“Well! now, ladies, I declare I’d like to oblige 
you both,” he said laughing, “ and I don’t see how 1 
can do it, except to sing for both.” 

“A happy thought 1” said Mr. Ackland. 

So Mr. Brodigan, clearing his throat in the most 
approved fashion, sang for Miss Ackland “ The Light 
of other Days,” then new and much in favor, and for 
Rose “ The Haunted Spring,” one of Lover’s most 
beautiful Songs of Ireland, and he sang both well, and 
with true feeling of expression; music both vocal 
and instrumental was much cared for in Drogheda 
society, and if men or women (we mean, of course, 
ladies and gentlemen) had ever so little voice, they 
cultivated it as a sort of duty they owed their neigh- 
bors and friends. 

“I’m sorry Mrs. Brodigan and the girls didn’t 
come,” said Miss Ackland ; “ we could have had a 
set of quadrilles, if they had ! ’ 

“ So am I, Miss Lydia,” said the worthy merchant, 
“ and I assure you it isn’t my fault, for I tried hard 
to prevail upon them, but they were all afraid of the 
cold, and Mrs. Brodigan had a touch of a sore throat, 
so they stayed at home. I dropped in for a moment 
at Gernon’s on my way up, and what do you think 
but Mrs. G. has another ‘touch of a sore throat.’ 
Quite a coincidence, isn’t it ? But that reminds me 
of ray message, which I was near forgetting. There’s 
Grand Benediction in the afternoon, you know, at 


112 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


West street Chapel, — of course, we’ll all meet there, 
and Mrs. Brodigan want^ you to come home with ua 
afterwards to dinner. And our young Leghorner 
here,” turning to Giacomo, “ will consider himself 
very particularly invited.” 

'‘You are very kind, Mr. Brodigan, and I should 
he most happy to accept your invitation,” said Gia- 
como, “ but I shall be on my way home by Sunday — ■ 
that is, if I can find a vessel going.” 

Mr. Brodigan expressed his regret, and hoped to 
have the pleasure of seeing him at his table at some 
future time. The other promised to go, and Mr. 
Brodigan took his departure, stoutly refusing “ an- 
other glass of punch.” — “ No, no, thank you, one’s 
enough at a time. Good-night, all.” 

After the worthy merchant had left, and the family- 
prayers were said, the little circle in Mr. Ackland’s 
old parlor drew closer round the fire; long thev sat 
and talked, unmindful of the swiftly-passing hours, 
till Mr. Ackland, at length, looking at his watch, sur- 
prised them all by the startling announcement that it 
was past twelve o’clock. 

“ In that case,” said Miss Ackland, “ we must dis- 
solve the meeting, and I hereby formally dismiss you 
all to the land of dreams.” 

“ And I shall be glad to go,” 

said Rose, quoting N. P. Willis, “ provided I ma} 
dream of grandpapa’s dear old gentlemanly harper, 
and hear his entrancing music, which would then, 
you know, be literally ‘the music of the spheres.' 


TnE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOY^ E. 


115 


Would not that be a coincidence?” and so saying, 
having reached the room-door, she laughingly kissed 
her hand to those she was leaving behind, and trip- 
ped away with her night-light, humming “ I’d be a 
butterfly.” Giacomo thought of the figures of Hebe 
he had seen in his own country, and wondered if any 
of those grand old sculptors had had such models as 
Rose Ackland. 

He had gone to bed and fallen asleep, after the 
pious preparation carefully taught him by his mother 
in his early childhood, and had slept he knew not how 
long, when he was awoke by a strain of what seemed 
at first to his bewildered senses, celestial music ; re- 
turning consciousness, however, soon convinced him 
that it was not celestial, as the Angels are not wont 
to tune their harps to Scotch airs, and the one ring- 
ing in his ears, and thrilling his heart, and making the 
blood to tingle in his finger-ends, was decidedly Cale- 
donian, if he knew anything of national music. It 
was a merry strain, a cheerful, stirring strain, full of 
life, and hope, and all the most welcome of the heart’s 
emotions, and how Giacomo’s heart did welcome it I 
Never had he heard such soul-stirring music; so he 
thought, at least, and as the delicious melody floated 
around, now high, now low, on the midnight air, the 
young man lay entranced and motionless, fearing to 
lose a note by any change of position. All at once 
the strain changed to an equally cheerful Irish air, one 
he had often heard Rose play, — which Giacomo re- 
cognized as “ Nothing in life can sadden us.” When 


114 TUB OLD UOUSK BY TUB BOYNE. 

this was played a few times over, the music ceased ; 
Giacomo sprang from his bed and approached the 
window, just in time to hear a deep masculine voice 
saying words like these, rapidly spoken : 

“ Good morrow, Mr. Ackland ! Good morroWj 
Miss Ackland ! Good morrow. Miss Rose ! — good 
morrow, young gentleman ! Good morrow, ladies 
and gentlemen, all !” 

The cold, sharply-pointed crescent of the waning 
moon was struggling through thick clouds at the 
moment, and by her misty light, the young man could 
just distinguish some four or five figures in great- 
coats, having, as he thought, an exceedingly ancient 
look about them, something like the “ Charleys” who 
still kept watch and ward over the slumbers of the 
burghers of Drogheda ; the faint rays fell, too, on cer- 
tain brazen “ instruments of sound,” carried by these 
quaint-looking serenadors, the light of which com- 
pletely dispelled from Giacomo’s mind any lingering 
suspicion that the music he had heard might possibly 
be that of O’R'eil’s harp, or some other minstrelsy from 
the world of spirits. Standing oppposite the win- 
dows at the rear of the house, in the street leading out 
from Lawrence’s Gate, the musicians had thus agree- 
ably broken the night’s dead silence, and were now 
moving away. Had the cold been less intense, Gia 
como might have been curious enough to have watch- 
ed them on their way, but as it was, he was only too 
glad to take shelter again under the blankets from 
the keen frosty air of mid-winter. It was long, hcw« 


THB OLD OUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


115 


ever, before sleep again visited his eye-lids, for the 
music he had heard was still ringing in his ears, fill- 
ing his mind with sweet and gracious fancies, and he 
could not, if he would, break the charm it had cast 
over all his senses. 

When he met the family at breakfast next morning, 
Giacomo went at once into the subject that occupied 
his thoughts, and asked if any one in the house had 
heard music during the night. Miss Ackland smiled, 
and Rose laughed. 

“ Music !” said she, “ what music ? Did you hear 
any 

“ Indeed I did, the sweetest music I ever heard 
before.” 

Ha ! ha !” cried Rose, “ the Signor has been 
visited by the harper’s ghost. Only think, grand- 
papa.” 

“ Hot exactly. Miss Rose,” said Giacomo, “ unless 
ho was one of a company of old fellows, for such I 
could see they were, who thought proper to serenade 
us last night. Moreover, if your ancient harper was 
there, he forgot his harp, for I’ll swear I saw only 
brass instruments with the performers.” 

‘‘ So you have been made sensible, Giacomo,” said 
Miss Ackland, “ of the meaning of those lines of out 
national poet — 

“ ‘ No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 
Of music fall on the sleeper’s ear, 

When half awakingj from fearful slumbers, 

He thinks llie lull choir of heaven is near.’ '* 


116 


THE OLD HOUSE Bt THE BOXNE. 


“ Truly I have, Miss Ackland ; but pray, can you 
tell me what music it was I heard, or rather who 
they were that paid us such a compliment — say ‘ us,’ 
for I presume I was the ‘ young gentleman’ so kindly 
greeted with the rest of the household ?” 

“Only fancy, aunt,” said Rose with her merry 
laugh, “ the Signor fancies that the compliment was 
all for us ? as if that same compliment was not paid 
at fifty different houses last night.” 

“Indeed?” 

“ Yes, indeed ! — did you never hear of ‘ the waits,’ 
who go round every night in some of these old towns 
just before Christmas, playing on different instru- 
ments, and wishing everybody a good morrow ?” No, 
Giacomo had never heard of them. 

“ Well ! you have not only heard of them, now, but 
heard them your very self. Those were the waits 
whom you heard last night, and the waits are a very 
old institution in Drogheda. W e purposely refrained 
from telling you of the custom, in order to give you 
a surprise.” 

“ For which I thank you ; but do you mean to say. 
Miss Rose, that those worthy individuals take all 
that trouble every year merely to regale the ears of 
the townspeople with their merry midnight music ?” 

“ That — and something else,” said Rose laughing at 
the young man’s simple earnestness. 

“ The something else being ?” 

“ Certain silver coins ranging from a crown to a 
Bhilling, which they receive when they go round some 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


117 


. b uftei I/O every house they serenaded, to ask theii 
' Christmas box.’ If you are here the week after 
Christmas you may have a daylight view of ‘the 
waits’ — and queer, jolly old fellows they are, too !” 

“ I fear I have seen the last of them,” said Giaco- 
mo, making an effort to imitate Rose’s gaiety, “ un- 
less they may choose to pay us another visit during 
this week.” 

“ They may and they may not,” said Rose, “ hut 
are you really and truly going before Christmas ?” 

“ Really and truly, — if I can.” 

“And you won’t wait for the Midnight Mass, or 
to see the Crib and the Holy Infant in the Churches ?” 

“ No, I hope to be at Midnight Mass in Leghorn, 
and there I shall see all, and more than all, I could 
possibly see here.” 

“ You forget, Rosey,” said Miss Ackland, “ that all 
Giacomo loves await him in Leghorn.” 

“A// I love ?” repeated Giacomo, in a reproachful 
tone, turning his dark, eloquent eyes on Miss Ack- 
land. “ Do you think all I love are in Leghorn ?” 

The lady smiled, and, reaching her hand for his 
cup, said in her quiet way — “ Perhaps I should have 
said ‘ those he most loves.’ But, after all, love is a 
strong word, Giacomo! — seldom, indeed, can it be ap- 
plied to those whom wo and the world call our friends. 
Some we esteem, others we may like, but rarely, in- 
deed, beyond the limits of our own family, do wo 
find any to love — any whose presence is sunshine to 
our hearts, whose absence, gloom and weariness. 


118 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Well for those who have found such, but alas! for 
those who found and lost them I” 

The last words were uttered in a sort of inward 
tone, as though the speaker were rather following 
out her own thoughts than addressing another; her 
eyes filled with tears, which she hastened to wipe 
away, and smile as usual, seeing her father watching 
her with that troubled look which she often saw on 
his face when a cloud rested on hers. 

“ Papa,” said Miss Ackland, brightening up, “ we 
must take our young friend to Oldbridge before he 
leaves, to see King William’s Obelisk, and the scene 
of the famous Battle of the Boyne.” 

The old gentleman smiled assent. ‘‘ But, dear me !” 
said Rose, “ there are so many places he has not seen. 
He has not even walked up the Rathmullen Road, or 
out to the Mall; the beautiful Nanny- Water he has 
not seen, — nor scarce anything.” 

One word caught Giacomo’s fancy — “The walk 
on the Rathmullen Road,” said he, “ surely there is 
time enough for that,” and he looked at Rose with a 
heightened color. “ No, no,” said Miss Ackland, 
“ you would not enjoy even that now. Wait till you 
come back next summer, and you shall see everything 
. — Bellewstown Races included.” 

Giacomo smiled and shook his head, but said no 
more on the subject. 



CHAPTER vn. 


By good or ill fortune as the case might be, a ship 
was found a few days after taking freight for Leg- 
horn, and the captain, to whom his father was not 
unknown, willingly consented to take Giacomo as a 
passenger in his cabin. How that the day was fixed 
for his departure, the young man began to feel the 
yearning that all loving hearts must feel for the loved 
and long unseen. But none the less his regret for 
leaving the new friends amongst whom he had spent 
some happy weeks, perhaps the most sensibly so of 
all his life. Under the influence of these feelings he 
much desired to revisit the places where they had 
been together, and most of all, Clogher Head, the 
scene of that disaster which had thrown him, a friend- 
less stranger, on their bounty. 

They went to Clogher, one gray, mild day, when 
there was neither frost, nor rain, nor snow — Miss 
Ackland and Rose, with a certain Mr. Cusack, an 
elderly yoimg gentleman extremely well-to-do in the 
world, and very anxious to secure a footing in the 
small circle which counted the Acklands as its centre. 
Other and higher ambition Harry Cusack might have 


120 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


had, but of that more anon. He had long ago been 
set down by the town gossips as a would-be candi- 
date for Miss Ackland’s hand, but years passed on 
and nothing came of it, and people had at last mado 
up their minds either that Harry Cusack had never 
“ meant anything particular,” or that Miss Ackland 
had determined to “ die an old maid,” now that she 
was nearing, if not actually on, the upper shelf. But 
still Harry was seen in as constant attendance as the 
ladies would permit, and no Mrs. Cusack 'sfas pre- 
sented to the burgjiers and their wives. When an 
escort was required, Harry was always only too 
happy to do the amiable, nothing impeded by the 
claims of business, for Cusack was his own master, 
and the head of a thriving mercantile house of good 
standing in the borough. So Harry Cusack was of 
the party that drove down to Clogher that Decem- 
ber day., moved thereto by some instinctive feeling 
that the young Italian had enjoyed more than his 
share of the Acklands’ company. Moreover he drove 
them there on his own handsome and stylish jaunting- 
car — that is to say, his man did. 

The heavens were gray above, and the sea and 
the river gray and misty all, when, leaving the car iu 
the village, our party made their way to the end of 
the bold promontory, over rough and jagged rocks, 
and enormous boulders thrown up probably from 
the deep by antediluvian tides when Clogher Head 
did not tower so high as it does to-day above the 
world of waters. Mr. Cusack had offered his arm to 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


121 


Miss Ackland, but she took Giacomo’s, as though not 
noticing the motion, and the disconcerted Harry was 
about trying his luck with Rose, when that volatile 
young lady skipped past him, and was seen the next 
moment, poised on the top of a huge stone to which 
she climbed by means of others smaller resting 
against its green, mossy side. Giacomo started, and 
would have gone to aid her in her descent from 
what seemed her perilous position, but Miss Ackland 
gently detained him, saying that Rose was in no dan- 
ger whatever, and was well accustomed to clamber 
over the rocks. 

“But they are damp to-day. Miss Ackland, and 
somewhat slippery.” 

“ Oh ! never mind. Rose is as sure-footed as a 
mountain-goat. I often tell her she ought to have 
been born in some Alpine chalet^ she has such a fancy 
for climbing rocks. A perfect Linda di Chamou- 
ni.” 

“Perfect, indeed,” said Giacomo, as he watched 
the lithe and active girl, moving to and fro on her 
elevated perch, in order to catch the view at differ- 
ent points. Even the heavy folds of her large cloak, 
and the close-fitting bonnet that covered her head, 
could not hide the grace and symmetry of her figure, 
or the lightness and agility of her movements. 

“ She’ll break her neck. Miss Ackland^ I’m sure she 
will,” was Cusack’s consolatory remark ; “ she’s as 
wild as a deer — upon my honor she is.” 

“ Suppose, Mr. Cusack ! you went up to take care 


122 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


of her,” said Giacomo somewhat maliciously, as ho 
glanced over the Louth man’s goodly proportions. 

“ Is it I go up there ?” said Cusack ; “no, I thank 
you, I value my life and limbs too much for that. 
Perhaps you’d like to go yourself— eh ?” 

No sooner said than done; another moment and 
the light and graceful figure of the young Italian was 
traced with Rose’s on the gray wintry sky. He was 
standing by her side on the lofty eminence. 

“ Now I call that a smart lad !” said Cusack, his 
vexation quite perceptibly shown; “I shouldn’t won- 
der if he had served his time to a circus-rider.” 

Miss Ackland smiled at the idea, but she merely 
answered — “ I rather think not,” — ^her mind was al- 
ready wandering from the present to that past in 
which she loved to dwell. In vain did Cusack exert 
himself to keep up a show of conversation ; she an- 
swered him, indeed, but, as it were, mechanically, and 
in monosyllables that sufficiently indicated her ab- 
straction. Her eyes were fixed now on the surging 
waves, in whose depths a hoarse sullen murmur was 
heard, denoting a coming storm, — and now turned, 
as if unconsciously, on the youthful pair, who had de- 
scended from the top of the boulder, and approached 
the verge of the rocky precipice, at whose foot roared 
the white breakers evermore. What association was 
it that attracted Miss Ackland’s grave, sad look to 
the animated face of the young man while he talked 
to Rose, and smiled at the girl’s wayward answers, 
then looked thoughtfully out over the waters that lay 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


123 


between himself and home ? Did his voice, his mien, 
his youthful grace, recall some image from the grave 
of time, or awake to momentary life some dream of 
by-gone days? None knew save herself, and she 
was not given to revealing her thoughts or fancies, 
least of all to Mr. Harry Cusack. 

And of what were the young people talking as they 
stood on the bold high bluff together ? Their talk 
was of nothing in particular, whatever their thoughts 
might have been. 

“ Oh ! do look at that gull !” said Rose, pointing to 
one that was describing circles between air and water, 
“ see how gracefully and lightly he skims the water 
with his wing ! Should you not like to be a sea-bird, 
Signor Giacomo ?” 

“ Perhaps I might,” he said, amused at the question, 
“ provided I were not doomed to fly alone. But I 
would rather be a canary-bird, singing in a cage, in a 
place I know.” 

“ Oh fiel” laughed Rose, “ what a preference ! — you 
do not, then, 

“ ‘ dream of all things free V ” 

“ No, I dream of nothing free. My dreams are not 
of freedom, but of captivity — willing captivity.” 

“ What, have you never felt the poet’s longing when 
he sang” — and she recited with theatrical emphasis— 

“ ‘ Oh ! to he free like the eagle of heaven, 

That roams over forests and mountains all day — 

Then flies to the rock which the thunder has riven, 

And nurtures her young with the fresh bleeding prey 1* 


124 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


You never have such yearnings after freedom, have 
you ?” 

“ No, I stick to the canary.” 

“ Truly, you are very humble in your aspirations.” 

“ Not so humble as you seem to think.” And turn- 
ing he fixed his eyes on her laughing face. “ 
ambition. Signora, soars higher than you may sup- 
pose.” 

“ Oh ! pray, don’t begin to confess to w^e,” and the 
smile on Rose's cheeks and lips deepened into rosy 
dimples of mischievous glee, “you know I am not 
your spiritual director. Did you ever hear the Mer- 
maid’s song ?” And without waiting for an answer, 
the wayward girl sang in her sweet clear tones — 

Come, mariner, down to the deep with me, 

And hide ye under the wave. 

For I have a bed of coral for thee. 

And quiet and sound shall thy slumbers be 
In the cell of the Mermaid’s cave.” 

• 

“ What would you think of a flying descent to the 
Mermaid’s cave such a day as this ?” 

“ Anywhere — anywhere with you !” was it a spirit 
near them that spoke those wild, passionate words, 
or was it the youth who stood so calmly at Rose’s 
side, his lips firmly compressed, his cheeks pale, his 
eyes fixed on the dark rugged rocks beneath. Rose 
was silent a moment, — a thing unusual with her. At 
last Giacomo turned, and a faint smile was on his 
face — 

“You forget. Miss Rose, that but few weeks have 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


125 


passed since there below I was battling with the 
waves, amid storm and darkness — struggling for a 
life,” he added drearily, “ that was scarce worth the 
saving.” 

“ Idid forget it — for the moment ’ — Rose answered, 
a sweet seriousness stealing over her lace, and a 
shudder creeping through her frame. “ It was a 
fearful night. I shall never forget it. How thankful 
you ought to be, Giacomo, — I mean. Signor, — that 
you escaped when so many perished. Oh ! that gun ! 
that signal gun ! how dismally it sounded through the 
wild storm !” 

“ You said I ought to be thankful for my escape,” 
said Giacomo ; “ I am thankful. Miss Rose, very, very 
thankful to our good God who has spared me for 
some wise purpose of His own. But tell me, had you 
known me as you know me now, would you have 
been sorry had I, too, perished that dreary night ?” 

“ Sorry !” Rose repeated with a slight start, then 
seeing the eagerness with which the young man 
awaited her answer, she laughed and said in a careless 
way — “ Oh ! of course I should have been sorry. I 
will not promise you, though, that I would ‘ to your 
memory drop a tear,’ as the Scotch ballad says. But 
I think I should have been sorry, for it is not always, 
you know, one has somebody to tease, as I have many 
a good time teased you^'^ 

“ Och ! weary on you for a creel, for I can’t hould 
you up, at aftl, at all !” said a rough coarse voice from 
below 


126 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Who in the world is that ?” said Giacomo, peer- 
ing down amongst the rocks. 

“ Your Mermaid,” answered Rose, laughing mer- 
rily ; “ see if it be not !” 

The head of an uncouth female figure emerged just 
then above the rocks on tlie side of the promontory 
where a rough precipitous path led down towards 
the Pirate’s Cave. Her stout and bony frame was 
attired in a costume half masculine, half feminine, 
a sailor’s jacket being her upper garment, over a 
short drugget skirt and a gown of linsey-woolsey of 
the same length pinned up behind. On her head 
was a blue handkerchief tied under the chin, while 
the picture was completed by a large basket of the 
kind called a creel, which hung over her shoulders 
by a leathern strap across her chest. The basket 
was full of the dulse or sea-rack which the woman 
had been gathering amongst the rocks. “ There she 
is,” said Rose, in a low voice, “ I told you so. A 
rare Amphitryon, is she not, oh ! mighty Neptune ?” 

But Giacomo scarcely heard her ; seeing the poor 
fish woman bending, as she was, under her load, and 
exhausted by her toilsome and difficult ascent of the 
damp, slippery rocks, he had flown to assist her, and 
reaching his hand, which she caught fast hold of, en- 
abled her to climb over the last remaining ledge of 
rock, and plant herself on terra Jirma, She gave her 
basket a hitch to raise it on her shoulders, and then 
turned to thank the young gentleman who had so 
kindly assisted her. 


THE OLD no ^SE BY THE BOYNE. 127 

“ I’m entirely obleeged to you, gentleman,” said 
she, “an’ sure it’s aisy known it’s a rale gentleman ye 
are, or ye wouldn’t stretch your hand to help a poor 
cratur like me wid her heavy load. It’s aisy seen 
where the bit o’ dacency is. But isn't that youn^ 
Miss Ackland I see wid you ? Augh ! sure now I 
know who you are, barrin’ your name, — an’ the LoiA 
be praised that you didn’t go to the fishes down, that 
night when the ship was wracked ! Well ! God 
bless you both, sure if anything comes of it, it’s the 
purty couple you’ll make. You have Catty Kugent’s 
blessin’ anyway !” 

And so saying, she trudged away, dropping a 
curtsey to Miss Ackland as she passed her by, and 
glancing with broad satirical meaning at Mr. Cusack, 
where he stood facing the lady in a favorite attitude 
of his, with his overcoat throwii back, and his thumbs 
in the arm-holes of his handsome vest of dark-colored 
velvet. Whatever might be the reason, it was plain 
the wealthy merchant held no very high place in the 
fishwoman’s estimation, and she belonged to a frater- 
nity who are never chary of their opinion. The 
Clogher and Baltray fish women enjoy the enviable 
reputation of being able to scold down all before 
them, and of them it is, indeed, often said that “their 
tongues are no scandal !” 

Tne broad hint so characteristically given by Catty 
N ugent was not lost on Giacomo and he turned to 
see what effect it had on his fair companion. A true 
Irish girl was Rose Ackland ; gay and volatile as she 


128 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


was by nature, her modesty was of that sensitive kind 
that shrinks from any, even the slightest allusion to 
such possibilities, and though her cheeks were dyed 
crimson red, she strove to appear as though she had 
not understood the fish woman’s broad “ if anything 
comes of it.” She stooped to pick up a variegated 
pebble that lay at her feet, and handing it to Giacomo 
said, with a smile that was evidently forced — 

“ Suppose you take that home to Leghorn as a 
souvenir of the rocks of Clogher.” 

“And of these few ‘happy moments’” — he said 
with emphasis, “ moments all too brief, and never to 
be forgotten. If never to be enjoyed again, these 
moments during which I have stood with you on the 
wild shore of Louth, looking out on the waste of 
waters, will come back to me in after times, Rose 
Ackland, as one bright speck on a life that may be 
dark — 

“ ‘ And in the flight of years we trace, 

The dearest of them all.’ 

This little stone may one day have a value you 
little dream of now !” And he put it carefully away. 

Before Rose spoke again she coughed once or 
twice, then gathered her cloak around her, drew 
down her veil, and finally burst into one of her mer- 
riest laughs. 

“ Mercy on us. Signor, how you do talk ! — you are 
positively becoming quite serious, and such being the 
case, I must try the efficacy of Harry Cusack’s amus- 
ing dulness, by way of specific.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


129 


“Harry Cusack is much obliged to you, Miss Rose !” 
said the gentleman named, who, having at length per- 
ceived that Miss Ackland paid little attention to his 
common-places, could no longer resist the temptation 
of breaking in on a tete-a-tete which, brief as it was, 
rather piqued his self-importance. He had just come 
up in time to hear his own name mentioned. “ I 
wasn’t aware that I was the subject of your conver- 
sation. I am quite flattered, I declare !” 

“ You need not be, then,” said Rose, sharply; “ if 
you heard what I said you would not.” 

“ Oh ! of course I heard, of course I did — some- 
thing about my dulness, I think you said. But no 
matter, — no matter. Miss Rose, better some people’s 
dulness, as you may find out, than other people’s over 
smartness. I never was a great hand at jumping, or 
turning summersets, or the like,” and he looked 
pointedly at Giacomo, “ but still I’m not so dull as 
you may suppose, and there’s one thing I can say for 
myself that everybody knows who I am, which is 
more than some people can say for themselves.” 

Giacomo colored, and was evidently about to make 
a sharp retort, when a comical look and gesture from 
Rose made him change his mind and turn away 
laughing. 

“ How, you dear old Harry Cusack, you can’t deny 
but you are a little dull at times,” said Rose, laying 
her hand playfully on his shoulder. “ And as for 
jumping and turning summersets, as you say, you 
know you are to be my uncle one of these days, and 


130 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Buch performances would ill become the gravity and 
dignity of your position. Good gracious ! only think 
of Harry Cusack practising gymnastics I” And 
away she ran to join her aunt, leaving the two gentle- 

en looking at each other in a sort of comical be- 
wilderment. 

“ Uncle, indeed T’ muttered Cusack as he turned on 
his heel and walked away, “ what an uncle I’d make 
you, to be sure. Miss Rose Ackland !” 

“Well! Giacomo,” said Miss Ackland, when the 
party were once more together, and walking towards 
their vehicle, “ have you fixed this wild scene of your 
perilous adventure sufficiently in your mind to de- 
scribe it when you get home ?” 

“ Yes,” said Giacomo, casting his eyes over the 
wide expanse of water, and the rocky shore, then 
down o;i the little straggling fishing-village that nes- 
tled, as it were, under the side of the bold promon- 
tory, “ yes, I think the picture is well stamped on 
my memory.” 

“ Hot forgetting your Mermaid,” said Rose archly, 
“ and her basket of sea-weed.” 

“The Mermaid shall not be forgotten,” was the 
reply, “ nor she who sang her song,” he added in a 
lower tone that only reached Rose’s ear. 

“ I think,” said Miss Ackland, “ we shall have a 
storm soon ; I do not like those heavy clouds that 
are gathering on the horizon.” 

“Hor I,” said Cusack; “it will be a rough even- 
ing, depend upon it, and I think it is the best of our 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


131 


play to be making the road short. There’s Ned, too, 
making signs to us to hurry, so if you have all seen 
enough of Clogher, we’ll start for home.’^ 

A few minutes more, and they were all comfortably 
seated on the car, with water-proof covers over their 
knees, and Ned, jumping into his seat, smacked his 
whip as he dashed down the village street. Catty 
Nugent standing at her door, dropping a curtsey, 
as they passed, and wishing them all safe home, and 
“ all sorts o’ good luck to the pretty yoimg gentle- 
man, an’ the ladies, God bless them !” 

Soon Clogher was left behind, and the car dashed 
rapidly along the somewhat lonely road back to 
Drogheda. The rain was falling, and the quaint old 
sycamores quivering in the blast, when the party 
reached Mr. Ackland’s door. The short day was 
already at its close, and “ the candles were lit in the 
parlor,” — and Nancy was in a state of feverish ex- 
citement because the dinner was spoiled — she was 
sure it was, and wondered at Miss Ackland to stay 
so long, knowing well enough that the chickens woii-ld 
be boiled to rags, and the drawn butter burned try- 
ing to keep it warm, and that nothing would be fit to 
put on the table. And there was Mr. Cusack, too, 
staying for dinner. Well ! well ! it was provoking, 
sure enough, and so Miss Ackland acknowledged, 
soothing Nancy as no one else so well could, and 
praising the skill and ingenuity by which the faithful 
creature had endeavored to make the most of what 
she had to cook for dinner. Notwithstanding Nancy’s 


132 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


lamentations the viands were de-clared excellent 
the credit of which Xancy, well pleased, took to her- 
self, but which Miss Ackland, in the good woman’s 
absence, ascribed rather to the keen sea-air and the 
long fast, in conformity with the old adage that 
“ hunger is good sauce.” So the meal passed right 
pleasantly, and even Harry Cusack’s brow, clouded 
before, grew serene as a summer sky. 

The dinner was scarcely over when in came Mr. 
and Mrs. Brodigan, with their two daughters, the 
mother a fine portly matron of a certain age, making 
up in breadth what she wanted in height; — the 
daughters nothing in particular, except that Miss 
Brodigan was tall and rather dark-complexioned, Miss 
Jane small and fair, with blue eyes and light-colored 
hair, almost flaxen in hue; also. Miss Brodigan was 
very reserved, and spoke but little; Miss Jane was 
f insipid and sentimental. Their father being wealthy, 
however, the young ladies had admirers — no, suitors, — 
by the dozen, to which circumstance might be owing 
the slightly supercilious, air habitual to both, but 
especially to the elder. They had heard much of the 
handsome young stranger who had been so long the 
guest of the Acklands, yet all unseen by Drogheda 
belles, and were anxious to make his acquaintance 
before he left; so, hearing that that was to be on the 
morrow, they had proposed to their father and 
mother to go and spend the evening at Mr. Ack- 
land’s, “ it was so long since they had been there.” 

To all except Giacomo the arrival of the Brodigans 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THS BOYNE. 


133 


appeared to give pleasure; he would much rather 
have had, for the last of his stay, one more of those 
delightful evenings, so quiet, yet so far from dull, of 
which he had spent so many under that roof But 
the Brodigans were there, and Cusack was there; 
there was no help for it, and everybody seemed so 
pleased, — especially Mr. Brodigan, who asked if it 
wasn’t quite a lucky coincidence that Mr. Cusack 
should happen to he there, too, and that Mrs. Brodi- 
gan’s throat got well just in time. 

Cusack exerted himself to shine that evening ; and 
shine he did in his own way, with that leaden bright- 
ness peculiar to him. He and Mr. Brodigan were on 
extremely good terms ; they had business relations 
not unfrequently that were of mutual advantage, and 
otherwise, there was sufficient in common between 
them to make their intercourse of the friendliest 
kind. The young ladies, not having the honor of 
Mr. Cusack’s particular attention, were the more dis- 
posed to value it, and could ill brook his well-known 
partiality for the society of the Ackland ladies, for 
the wealthy and good-looking Cusack was deemed 
quite an authority in Drogheda circles. “ Mamma” 
herself had a lingering hope that Mr. Cusack might 
one day “ come round” to pay more attention to 
cither of her daughters, who, if they were not quite 
BO handsome as some of their neighbors, had that (in 
expectation) which according to Mrs. Brodigan and 
many others — “ covers all defects.” They had money 
(to get), and Mr. Cusack and all Drogheda knew that 


134 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


— they were young enough, too, — and so their pru- 
dent mamma could afford to wait, and “ let things 
take their course,” the more so as “ the girls had as 
good as Cusack looking after them, and were always 
sure of being well settled.” 

So on these terms the party spent a very pleasant 
evening together ; quadrilles were danced by all in 
their turn, except Mr. Ackland, who was laughingly 
allowed the special privilege of keeping his seat near 
the fire; Rose Ackland and the Misses Brodigan 
danced the Highland Fling in character, that is to 
say, with tartan scarfs tied gracefully under one arm, 
and the whole party, with the exception of Miss 
Ackland who played, danced “ The Triumph,” and 
some other country-dances, for country-dances as yet 
maintained their ground in Irish society. Some of 
these dances were new to Giacomo, and his efibrts to 
follow the figures, under the guidance of his partner 
for the time, created much amusement. But he 
turned the tables on them by proposing to teach them 
some of his own national dances, and nothing could 
be more amusing than to see good Mr. Brodigan, and 
even Cusack, though younger and of somewhat 
lighter proportions, attempting the light fantastic 
movements of the gay Italian dances. There was 
singing, too, including French chansons from the Miss 
Brodigans, and a beautiful Italian ronianza from Gia- 
como, being the first time the latter had sung in that 
house. He had overlooked sundry hints from the 
fair Miss Jane that she was so fond of Italian music, 


THE OLD HODSE BY THE BOYNE. 


185 


and 60 forth, and even a patronizing request from her 
more stately sister, and it was only a little before the 
party separated that on Miss Ackland’s whispered in- 
vitation, enforced by a “ Pray do, Signor !” from 
Rose, he sang the little canzomtta'wYnoh charmed all 
the company, though Harry Cusack shrugged his 
shoulders a A^ery little, behind backs, and the sisters 
were not quite so loud in their applause as if thecan- 
zonetta had been sung at their request, expressed or 
understood. It was evident, indeed, that if the 
young stranger chose to make himself agreeable to 
either he might easily have succeeded, and Miss Jane’s 
languid graces were as clearly put forth for him, hut 
alas ! put forth in vain ; he was blind and deaf in her 
regard, as she saw with no small degree of mortifica- 
tion. As for Anne Brodigan, she soon perceived that 
the handsome and graceful young stranger was not 
likely to bead at the shrine of either, and though she 
would probably, in his case, have stooped to conquer, 
she shrewdly guessed that the victory was not for 
her, so she did not stoop, but kept her dignity, and 
was barely civil, nothing more. 

It was late, for that quiet household, at least, when 
Cusack and the Brodigans left together, wishing the 
Signor a safe and pleasant voyage, though politely re- 
gretting his departure. Raney was then summoned, 
and the night-prayers said, when, late as it was — 
eleven o’clock or so — the little circle drew their 
chairs around the fire to enjoy the pleasure of a last 
friendly chat before they retired for the night. They 


136 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


talked long, but not cheerfully, for though all tried 
to conceal the feeling of approaching separation, it 
would come uppermost, and was plainly visible on 
every face, and in the saddened tone of every voice ; 
even Rose was not merry as her wont, although she 
showed the least depression of all. Mr. Ackland 
would have Giacomo promise that he would, if pos- 
sible, visit them again in the summer, and the young 
man said in an under tone — “ God grant I may be 
able to come as soon as I would wish to come, and 
that I may find you all as I leave you now !” So 
saying he left the room. 

On the morrow he sailed for Leghorn, as sad for 
leaving his Drogheda friends as hopeful of meeting 
those he loved at home. Mr. Ackland, Mr. Brodigan, 
and Harry Cusack, with several other gentlemen of 
the town, had accompanied the young man to the 
ship, which lay alongside the quay, near the bridge. 
They had just left him, and he was standing on the 
deck, looking wistfully up at St. Catherine’s Mount, 
then glancing over the strangely-varied features of 
the scene immediately around him, when he per- 
ceived a tall, slouching figure standing motionless on 
the quay, scanning through half-closed eyes the crowd 
of faces on board the Lady of the Lake. It was 
Jemmy Hulty, and Giacomo, suspecting the object 
of his visiting the quay at that particular time, crossed 
the gangway to where he stood, and tapped him on 
the shoulder. He turned slowly, without any mani- 
festation of surprise. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


137 


Were you looking for me, Jemmy ?” 

“1 was, dear; — God bless you! I hard you were 
for lavin’ us this mornin’, so I thought I’d bring you 
an Agnus Dei. I got it a’ purpose from the dear 
ladies up at the Fair street Convent. I meant to 
bring it to you yisterday, an’ I would, too, only for a 
touch o’ the rheumatics I got. You’ll be sure an’ 
wear it, an’ I’ll go bail you’ll never be shipwracked 
again.” 

Giacomo promised ; he did not choose to tell the 
kind simple old man that he had one already, the 
gift of Miss Ackland, which lay very close to his 
heart. He warmly thanked Jemmy, and asked him 
to remember him sometimes in his prayers. 

“ Oh ! it’s little good my poor prayers ’ill do any 
one,” Jemmy replied in the perfect good faith of gen- 
uine humility ; “ there is no one needs prayers more 
than I do myself, God help me I But, sure, they say 
even sinners are hard when they pray for others, so 
I’ll not forget you, dear young gentleman I” 

Giacomo would have placed some money in tne old 
man’s hand, but he gently put it away, saying in his 
soft, whispering tones, “ Ho, dear, no I — I don’t want 
it ! — I’ve enough for the little time I’ll be here. But 
if you ever come back to Drogheda, an’ miss poor 
Jemmy, I’ll lay it on you to get a Mass said for me. 
There’s my hand now, an’ farewell ! an’ God be with 
you !” Somehow the tears started to the young man’s 
eyes as he watched the large uncouth figure of the 
pilgrim slowly moving away. 


CHAPTER YIII. 


li Christmas Eve in Leghorn, that old-new 
town of W" estern Italy, in fair Tuscany, yet scarcely 
of it, — with its mixed population, comprising people 
from most of the maritime countries of Europe, its 
modern fortifications, its Turkish mosque, its Greek 
and Protestant churches, rising as proudly there, 
under that blue cold sky, as though they were not on 
Italian soil, and in almost the only city of Italy where 
all religions stood on equal ground. The Angelus- 
bell had long since tolled from the Duomo and the 
Church of the Madonna, and the streets were al- 
ready thinning fast of the busy, bustling crowds who 
had all day long been hurrying to and fro in pursuit 
of their various objects. The night was cold for that 
southern climate, and the stars were twinkling in 
the dark blue depths of a moonless sky with that in- 
tense brightness peculiar to the frosty nights of mid- 
winter. 

All Leghorn is within the walls built around it by 
one of the magnificent Medici princes some two hun- 
dred years ago. So, within the walls, in one of the 
handsome streets appropriated to the dwellings of 


Tni? OLD HOUSE Br the boyne. 


139 


the rich merchants and the professional men of the 
place, we are going to enter a house, plainer than 
most of those around it, yet still indicating the af- 
fluent condition of its owners — in the taste displayed 
everywhere around it, and the more than Italian at- 
tention to comfort and convenience. In a small but 
handsomely-furnished parlor on the first floor, with 
a clear smokeless fire burning on a brasier in the 
centre, sat two persons, a father and daughter, it was 
plain to see, from the close resemblance they bore to 
one another. The girl might have been some eight- 
een years of age, although her height would have 
made one suppose her older, for she was rather over 
than under the middle size, yet slight and graceful 
withal ; her face was not what could strictly be called 
handsome, but it was more than handsome, with 
clear blue eye’s of a pensive, almost melancholy ex- 
pression, and a rich profusion of fair hair smoothly 
braided in those Grecian bands which sculptors love 
to represent, as giving to the female head that clas- 
sical character so full of womanly modesty and 
womanly grace. 

The father was a remakably fine-looking man ol 
some forty years and upwards, with a look of deci- 
sion, and what might be called stern determination, 
for the prevailing character of his pale, and strongly- 
marked features. The eyes were blue, and deep-sot 
under the finely arched brows; the forehead high 
and broad, shaded by hair only a little darker than 
bis daughter’s and as yet untouched by the frosts of 


140 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


years. The nose and month were singularly fine, 
expressing at once the decision of the gentleman’s 
character, and a certain refinement tnat was scarce 
compatible with the sternness of the general aspect. 
Tnere was, moreover, a certain air of command about 
the head and face that well became the tall, muscular 
figure; but there were lines of care and anxious 
thought in the still handsome face that evidently came 
in advance of time. He was pacing the room to and 
fro, with knitted brow, and folded arms, while his 
daughter sat near the brasier, making a Christmas 
wreath of evergreen branches, which she intertwined 
with dexterous fingers. Ever and anon, she paused 
in her work, to steal a look at her father, and her 
sweet face grew sadder and sadder as she saw the 
cloud darkening on his. It was not her custom, how* 
ever, to break in on his meditations, and so she 
worked on in silence till he suddenly stopped in front 
of her, and said in Italian : 

“ Maddalena, I fear we shall have a lonely Christ- 
mas, after all. If Giacomo were coming he would be 
here before now.” 

Tears came into the girl’s eyes, but she only said — 
‘‘ He may come to-night yet, father.” 

“ Ho, no, he will not come — he forgets us — he is 
like the young Telemachus, shipwrecked on Calyp- 
bo’s Island, — but without a Mentor,” he added bit- 
terly. 

“ My dear father,” said the girl in her sweet sooth- 
ing way, “ do not be hard on Giacomo.” She did 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


141 


aot understand the classical allusion. “ I am sure he 
will be hero. I have prayed the Madonna so often 
to bring him home for Christmas that I know she can- 
not choose but hear me.” 

“ Pray her to keep your heart pure and innocent 
as now, my child 1” said the father, regarding her 
with a softened look which, seldom seen in his stern 
eyes, was very beautiful and very touching — so Mad- 
dalena thought, and her gentle heart glowed with 
pleasurable emotions. “ Pray the Madonna, Madda- 
lena, that your woman’s heart may never harden in 
the world’s icy grasp, or its freshness depart with the 
spring-time of your years ! — pray, my child, that you 
be like your mother in all womanly virtues !” 

He resumed his walk, nor spoke again till a loud 
knock came to the outer door, and before either 
father or daughter could reach the hall, the room- 
door was thrown open, and Giacomo, our Giacomo 
and theirs, rushed in, flushed with excitement, and 
radiant with joy. Oh ! the ineffable delight with 
which Maddalena embraced him, and kissed him 
over and over, murmuring “ Thank God ! thank God I 
you are safe home again !” but when the youth would 
have thrown himself into his father’s arms, he glanced 
in his face, and drawing back, extended his hand, 
while the light of joy faded from his eyes. 

“ Giacomo,” said the father in a calm but rather 
severe tone, “ I am glad you have come home for 
Christmas. But why did you stay so long ? It is 
some TYecks since you have been quite recovered. 


142 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Why should you intrude so long on , on stran- 

gers — not to speak of the indifference your pro- 
tracted absence showed for us at home ?” 

“Father,” Giacomo began, in a hesitating voice, 
“it was really impossible to getaway sooner without 
giving offence to the kind friends to whom I am so 
indebted.” 

“ Ay,” said the father, with his bitter smile, “ I was 
just saying to your sister that our Telemachus had 
been thrown on Calypso’s Island without his Mentor.” 

“ Well ! even if it were so, father,” the young man 
returned smiling, “ you know Ulysses had been there 
before Telemachus, and all his wisdom could not 
shield him from the potent charms of the goddess. 
But for me, I found no Calypso after my shipwreck 
— no spells were woven for me.” 

The father turned quickly and fixed a piercing 
look on his son, but there was nothing in the frank, 
ingenuous face that sought to elude detection, and 
the elder gentleman smiled with evident relief as he 
told Maddalena to leave off gazing at her brother, 
and go see if supper were ready. 

“And I will go down at the same time to see 
Paolo and Nannetta,” said Giacomo, “ before I go up 
stairs. How are they ?” ’ 

“ As well as can be— just as you left them.” 

“ I saw Giulia, of course, at the door, when she let 
me in, and I heard her running at full speed to tell 
the news below.” 

These were the servants, a husband and wife and 


THE OLD HOC RE BY THE BOYNE. 


143 


their only child, whom her mother was training as a 
maid-of-all-work, making her very helpful to herself 
in discharging the easy duties of that small and quiet 
household, 

So Giacomo was home for Christmas, and had had 
a good sleep by the time the churches were illumin- 
ated for twelve o’clock ; then went with his father 
and sister to Midnight Mass in the Church of the Ma- 
donna near by, where, kneeling before the high altar 
amid the blaze of lights and the perfume of fresh 
green branches, he sang with the rest the soul-inspir- 
ing Adeste Fideles ^ — wishing the while that some of 
his Drogheda friends were there to hear an Italian 
congregation singing with one voice and in perfect 
unison the joyous strains that usher in the auspicious 
day of Our Lord’s Nativity. Even there came up 
before his mind, amid all the holy associations of the 
place and the time, the group that greeted his eyes 
when last he looked on the old bouse by the Boyne 
— Miss Ackland and Rose standing side by side on 
the esplanade, watching him as he descended the 
steps, the latter waving a smiling farewell, while 
near them, but a little behind, stood old Nancy, rais- 
ing ever and anon her apron to her eyes to wipe 
away the tears which she did not care to hide. 

They are all at Midnight Mass, too ” thought he, 
‘ in their favorite High Lane Chapel, and dear Mr, 
Ackland is there, and, perhaps. Jemmy Nulty. And 
it may be that some of them are praying for me, as 
I pray for them, at this happy hour.” 


144 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNB. 


It TV as natural that Giacomo should talk much of 
the Acklands, and it was natural that Maddalena 
bhould listen with such interest as she had never lis- 
tened before to even the most minute details of her 
brother’s sojourn under their roof. Soon she learned 
to know each and all of the family, their old house 
by the bright Irish river, their old servant, whom she 
usually associated with her own good Nannetta, and 
even Tab, the cat. Maddalena grew familiar with 
them all, and it became one of the favorite amuse- 
ments of her solitary hours to gather them all around 
her in fancy. She had her favorites amongst them, 
too, and her chief one was Miss Ackland, whom she 
somehow singled out from all the rest as more than 
all interesting. Sweet Maddalena had a heart full of 
tender, gentle affection, — a creature of feeling, still 
more than of thought, she clung to any one who once 
gained her love like ivy to the castle walk 

But it was almost always in the absence of their 
father that the young people talked of Drogheda and 
the Acklands ; once or twice when some casual allu- 
sion was made to the subject in his presence, he 
chilled the warm hearts of Jiis children by some 
cynical remark, expressive of that cold skepticism in 
regard to human nature, which was, imhappily, one 
of his prevailing traits of character. Thus, the gen- 
erous care and kindness of the Acklands to his son, 
he coldly and curtly attributed to “ circumstances — 
nothing more,” and would scarcely admit any extra- 
ordinary merit in the case. It seemed to his children 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


145 


as though he felt annoyed at being under such obli- 
gations to strangers, without any proper means of 
discharging a debt, which his pride could ill bear. 
But, however little he talked on the subject, he man- 
aged to possess himself of the principal circum- 
stances connected with the Acklands, and now and 
then startled the young people by some abrupt ques- 
tion concerning them, when they were talking to- 
gether in a low tone, and believed him absorbed in 
his book or his writing — for it was his practice to 
write letters sometimes of an evening, at home in 
their quiet parlor. Then came dimly back to Gia- 
como’s mind the unaccountable dislike his mother 
had for Drogheda, which yet she had never seen, 
and he began to remember, what he had of late, 
oddly enough, forgotten, that his father had known 
that old town well in his younger days, and he mucli 
desired to ask him whether he had been acquainted 
with any of the Ackland family; but thinking, very 
naturally, that if such were the case, he would have 
mentioned it before then, the young man forbore 
putting the question ; it was seldom, indeed, that he 
did take such a liberty with his father. 

And yet the Signor Malvili was not a harsh man ; 
cold he seemed always, and stern at times, but never 
harsh or rough ; on the contrary, there was a certain 
degree of gentleness even in his harshest mood, some- 
thing that attracted you towards him, you knew not 
why, and made you almost love, even while you 
feared him. His manner was that of a well-bred man 


146 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


a gentleman, easy and natural, except in so far as it 
was cold and reserved. There was, too, a dash of 
tfie seafaring man about him, not very perceptible, as 
a general thing, but most so when his manner was 
the least repellant. It seemed as though it were his 
pleasure to efface from his memory and that of others 
that he ever had, if, indeed, he had, gone “ down to 
the sea in ships,” or followed the roving life of a 
“ dweller on the deep.” 

He had applied himself for all the years that his son 
remembered to the pursuit of commerce, jiart of the 
time in connection with his father-in-law, at whose 
death he had succeeded to the entire business of their 
large mercantile “ concern,” — as we are wont to 
phrase it now-a-days. Shrinking with nervous dread 
from society, and from contact with a world of which 
he took no pains to conceal his contempt, he lived 
himself, and kept his family, in almost unbroken se- 
clusion, surrounded, indeed ny many of the domestic 
appurtenances of wealth, especially in matters of 
taste, — and doing more good to the poor of the city 
and its various public charities than many who made 
a greater show, and professed a greater interest in 
them. His children knew and well appreciated his 
fine qualities, yet their love of him was, as we have 
seen, strangely mingled with fear, and its manifesta- 
tion timid and constrained. 

"Walking out one evening together a few weeks 
after Giacomo’s return, while the lengthening eve of 
the last days of January was fading from the cold 


THE OLD DOUSE BY TUE BOYNE. 


147 


clear sky, the sister and brother talked long of the 
days when their young mother was with them, beau- 
tiful and gentle, and loving. 

“And I think my father loved her,” said Giacomo 
musingly, as though half unconscious he had a list- 
ener. 

Loved her, Giacomo ?” said his sister in surprise, 
“ of course he did, brother, — ^how could he help lov- 
ing her whom every one loved ?” 

“ I know, I know,” said the brother absently, “ but 
you know, Maddalena, our mother was not what 
our father is in many ways — she was a child always 
and to the last — a child in worldly wisdom, and in 
book knowledge, whilst he was a man^ and a man of 
superior intelligence, with a heart tried in the world’s 
furnace. Maddalena, I tell you there was little in 
common between our parents — they were never made 
for each other.” 

“But, Giacomo, they lived happily together. You 
forget that. You talk so strangely !” 

“If I say now, my sister, what I never said before, 
it is because you are older now and can better under- 
stand these my thoughts, and they are not new ones, 
I assure you.” 

Maddalena was silent, and they walked on a little 
way without either saying a word ; at last the sister 
spoke, and her tone was graver than its wont, — 
“ Brother, it may have been as you say, but I see no 
use in talking of things, now past and gone. Be- 
sides, our father was never unkind to our dear mo 


148 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 


ther, and I am sure she loved him with her whole 
heart.” 

“ She did,” said Giacomo, “ but now I can remem- 
ber that there was ever a shadow over her love, a 
doubt it now seems to me, though she never betrayed 
it to my father. But to me, even as a child, she has often 
expressed such a feeling, and said it was her constant 
prayer to overcome it. I know not if she ever did. 
But, after all,” he added, seeing that his words im- 
pressed his young sister more deeply than he thought 
they would, “ after all, Maddalena, these may be only 
fancies of mine, for, though you have never given mo 
credit for imagination, I have my fancies, too, some- 
times.” 

“ Not always so gloomy as these, I hope !” 

“ Nay, my sweet sister, you must not take the mat- 
ter so seriously. Our parents lived as happily toge- 
ther, I think, as most married people do, and they 
never gave us their children any but good example. 
Our dear mother is in heaven with the Madonna 
whom she loved so tenderly, and our father is good 
enough to go there, too, when death calls him hence. 
He loves us, I am sure, and it is idle to raise the veil 
from his earlier life which we cannot, if we would, 
penetrate.” 

They were almost at home, and the lingering 
shadows were entirely dispelled from the hearts of 
both by a fine manly voice from the deck of a ship 
that was passing out to sea, singing to an old plaint- 
ive air-TT- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


149 


Peggy Bawn, you are my darling, 

And my heart lies within your breast, 

And although we’re at a distance, 

I still love you Iho best. 

Although the raging seas, my dear. 

Between you and I may roar. 

Oh ! Peggy Bawn be true to me, 

And I’ll love you for evermore.” 

“ Ha !” said Giacomo, “ that should bo an Irish 
sailor — I have heard Miss Ackland’s old Nancy sing 
that song many a time. That poor fellow is thinking 
of his sweetheart, and who knows but she is in 
Drogheda ? Can you see that flag that is at her 
mast-head, Maddalena?” 

No, the night had now closed in, and Maddalena 
either could not see the flag, but she laughingly said : 
“ I should like to know whether some one else has 
not left a sweetheart in that Irish town. What of 
your beautiful Rose Ackland ?” 

“ Nothing in particular, sister mine, except what 
I have told you. But I know you would love her 
if you only knew her.” 

“ No, brother,” and Maddalena shook her head, 
slowly; “no, I might like the Signorina Rose, but I 
should love Miss Ackland. I know I should, and I 
pray the Madonna every day that I may one day see 
her, if it were only long enough to tell her how I love 
her, and how often I have prayed for her.” 

They had reached the door as Maddalena thus 
spoke, and her last words were overheard by her fa- 


150 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

ther, who had just rung the hell, and was waiting for 
admission. 

“ Of whom do you speak in such enthusiastic terms, 
Maddalena?” he inquired, as they all entered the 
vestibule together. 

“ Of that dear good Irish lady, father, who was so 
kind to our Giacomo.” 

“ Oh ! you mean Miss Ackland, I suppose. Happy 
child ! through what a golden medium you see all the 
world, and all the people in it! An English, or 
rather a Scotch poet has said — • 

“ ‘ ’Tis distance lends enchanLment to the view,’ 

but I think youth is, at least, as illusive as- dis- 
tance.” * 

The cold philosophy with which their father treated 
a subject so dear to both the young people, and en- 
listing their warmest sympathies, was deeply painful 
to their sense of gratitude, and Giacomo could not 
help saying — 

“ I only wish, father, that you knew Miss Ackland 
as I know her 1” 

A look of some strange emotion — a sudden and 
sharp p.ain, as it were, — came into the deep thought- 
ful eyes of the father, — then a smile of doubtful 
meaning, and he said, coldly and calmly, — in a sort 
of mocking tone — 

“ And suppose I did, Giacomo 1 what then ? I am 
too old a bird now to be caught with chaff. I have 
little faith in woman, or woman’s ways.” He then 
added, with a softening look and tone — “ Yet there 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


151 


sras one woman, at least, true, — ay ! true as the nee- 
dle to the pole ! Your mother, children, your poor 
mother, was all truth, truth and innocence ! So is 
my Maddalena !” and he laid his hand on the girl’s 
shoulder, and looked at her with mere fondness than 
she had seen in his eyes since she sat on his knees in 
her happy childhood. In a tumult of delightful emo- 
tion she escaped from the room to muse in solitude a 
little while over the many peculiarities which marked 
her father’s character, and the gushing tenderness 
that forced its way at times through the icy coldness 
of his usual demeanor. Many a time she had com- 
plained to her father confessor, who had also been 
her mother’s, of the little affection her father ever 
manifested for his children, and as often had the good 
'padre told her that she must not judge by appear- 
ances, or trouble herself about her father’s manner, 
but go on loving him, obeying him, and doing all she 
could to make him happy. 

One day, a week or so after the conversation just 
referred to. Signor Malvili suddenly raised his head 
from a book he had been reading, and asked his son 
if ISIiss Ackland were as interesting as he described 
her how it happened that she had never been mar- 
ried, “ for I understood you to say,” said he, “ that 
she is no longer young.” 

“That I cannot account for, father,” said the 
young man, thoughtfully ; “ the same thought often 
puzzled me, as I sat and watched her when wholly 
unconscious of observation; she seemed to give the 


162 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


reins to memory, and a sweet pensiveness settled 
down on her fine, though faded features.” 

“Did she never allude to her past life in your 
hearing ?” 

“ Never ; and I could not help wondering, as you 
say, why she never won a heart to which her own 
might cling with woman’s devotion.” 

“ Why, Giacomo,” said his father, with a melanclx)- 
ly smile, “ were not Miss Ackland so many years your 
senior, I should fear that she had won your heart.” 

“ Won my heart, father!” exclaimed the son, sur- 
prised to hear his father indulge in such badinage; 
“ oh ! there was little danger of that.” He spoke 
with an energy that startled himself and drew his 
father’s eyes to his face with a look of keen inquiry. 
The son colored to the very temples; the father 
shook his head and sighed. He rose from his seat, 
took a few turns up and down the room, then paused 
in front of Giacomo, and said to him with his usual 
calm impassibility — 

“ Giacomo, this quiet monotonous life of ours is ndt 
suited to your years ; you must go and spend some 
time with your unoies and aunts in Florence and also 
in Pisa. You can spend the remainder of the win- 
ter between the two cities, and that will give you an 
opportunity of seeing something of the gay world. 
Nay, no objections; you shall start the day after to- 
morrow. I will write to your uncle Ludovico this 
evening. Go tell MaddaJena to make the necessary 
preparations.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 153 

“ But, father, I came home so lately, and I have 
uo desire for seeing the gay world. Suffer me to re- 
main with you and my dear sister!” 

“ Giacomo, I have said that you are to go ; no en- 
treaties can alter my determination,” 

There was nothing for it now but to obey this un- 
welcome mandate with the best grace possible, for 
Giacomo was not the son to dispute his father’s will, 
and his was not the father to permit him, if he did. 
Maddalena was both grieved and surprised by this 
new and sudden idea of sending her beloved brother 
away from home so soon again, and for several weeks, 
but she knew by experience that no effort of hers 
could change her father’s stern will, and she quietly 
went to work to prepare all that was necessary for 
Giacomo to take with him, the tears streaming from 
her eyes, and her heart heavy with sorrow. 

That evening, the last but one that Giacomo was 
to be at home, for what seemed a very long time, his 
sister asked him to sing; she had not heard him sing 
since his return from Ireland. They were alone to 
gether. 

“ I cannot refuse you, my sweet sister,” said the 
young man kindly and tenderly, “ though I never was 
in less humor of singing. What shall I sing ?” 

Anything you like.” And she handed him her guitar, 

“ I will sing you a song, then, that I learned in 
Drogheda.” And he sang a pretty ballad, old even 
then, but still popular in the British Islands — “ Pool 
Bessy was a Sailor’s Bride.” 


154 the old house by the boynb. 

Maddalena was delighted with the little English 
ballad and its sweet sympathetic air, but she was not 
yet satisfied, and petitioned for another song. 

“English or Italian?” 

“Oh! English, to be sure, it is not often I hear 
English songs.” 

This time Giacomo sang one of the most popular 
of Haynes Bayley’s drawing-room lyrics — “Isle of 
Beauty !” and his voice was full of pathos and quiver- 
ing with strong emotion as he sang the last stanza, 
particularly — 

“ Whilst the waves are round me breaking, 

As I pace the deck alone, 

And mine eyes in vain are seeking 
Some green leaf to rest upon. 

What would I not give to wander 
Where my old companions dwell. 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

Isle of Beauty, fare thee well !” 

He had just ended the song and was playing the 
symphony when his father suddenly opened the door 
from a small study-room where he spent many of his 
in-door hours, although neither the brother nor sister 
knew of his being there then. He was pale, paler 
even than usual, but bis voice was calm and his tone 
passionless, as he said : 

“ I see you have been learning some songs during 
your absence, Giacomo! pray, of whom did you 
learn those you have been just singing ?” 

“I learned them of Miss Ackland, father; they 
are two of her particular favorites, and I have heard 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


155 


her sing them over and over bo many times that I 
had no trouble in learning them. I heard her say 
that they were endeared to her by the sweetest and 
saddest recollections of her life.” 

“ Indeed ! — Did Miss Ackland say that ? How 
very strange !” said the elder Malvili, with a ghastly 
smile ; “ perhaps the lady may have had heart-ties 
once, — old maid as you say she is now !” 

“ Nay, father, I did not call Miss Ackland an old 
maid,” began Giacomo, but his father had left th« 
room. 



CHAPTER IX. 


Spring was abroad, and the earth was glad, and tha 
waters bounded on their way rejoicing in the merry 
sunshine ; the Boyne, brightest of rivers, ran cheerily 
on between the lovely scenes that margin its course ; 
the fields and meadows were green, and the trees 
were already putting forth their earliest blossoms. 
The linnet and the thrush made groves and gardens 
vocal, and all nature was gay. The old town of 
Drogheda sat looking down on the placid stream 
that flowed in her midst, with the calm contentment 
of reverend age, a time-mellowed picture that bright 
spring day. Around the borne of the Acklands on 
St. Catherine’s Mount, the sunshine fell all goldenly ; 
there was joy abroad in the air and on the earth, and 
on the glancing waters, but within the old house 
there was no joy, but gloom, even the gloom of 
death, — and were it not a Christian household there 
would have been dark despondency as well, for old 
George Ackland had been gathered to his fathers, 
and with him died out the slender means which had 
stood between the family and utter poverty. In the 
last days of winter the old man passed away, tranquil 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


157 


and resigned, on his own account, but troubled with 
anxiety for those he left behind, now thrown entirely 
on their own exertions for a maintenance, they who 
might once have expected not only competence, but 
wealth. These gloomy thoughts were not suffered, 
however, to weigh heavily on his mind ; his daugh- 
ter reminded him that she and Rose were both well 
able to earn a living for themselves by the exercise 
of those talents which he, in the days of his prosper- 
ity, had spared no expense to cultivate; it would be 
easy supporting two. Miss Ackland said, especially 
when they were in a position to assist each other. 
And Rose, though her heart was breaking, hid her 
grief, and schooled her face and her voice into some- 
thing like cheerfulness, and told her dear grandpapa 
not to trouble himself about her or her aunt, for that 
they would be sure to get along well ; that losing him 
was their only trouble, and they did not want to see 
him fretting about anything that merely concerned 
them ; and besides she ridiculed the idea that “ grand- 
papa” was going to die, and at times half persuaded 
himself that the Great Summoner had not yet issued 
his warrant. Never had Rose appeared to so much 
advantage as during those days and nights of anxious 
watching, and many a time her aunt thought, as her 
eyes followed her with affectionate admiration, how 
little we know people by the ordinary seeming of 
their daily life. 

But the suspense, the uncertainty was over ; death 
had claimed his own, and the venerable parent, around 


158 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


whom the hearts of his daughter and granddaughter 
had intertwined as the missletoe round the forest 
oak, lay low in the earth, never to bless their eyes 
again till their own turn came to cross the dread 
bourne that separates time from eternity. 

They had many friends, the Acklands, and many 
invitations for “ long visits” had been given them in 
all kindness and sincerity, with a view to take them 
from a place so full of sad and bitter associations as 
their old homo was then. But they could not be 
prevailed on to leave it, for, lonely as it was, it was 
still their home, dear and sacred because of its thou- 
sand memories, so sweetly soothing to their hearts, 
and in its still seclusion they could weep unseen and 
alone. As yet they had received no visits, except 
from a very few of their oldest friends, and most of 
their time was spent arranging everything, with 
Nancy’s assistance, for the final breaking-up of their 
little household, to which they all three looked for- 
ward with heavy hearts. Poor Nancy was inconsol- 
able ; although a mouth had passed since Mr. Ack- 
land’s death, she still could not speak of him without 
tears, and it was her frequent remark that she “ cried 
the old master then as fresh as the day he died, the 
glory of Heaven to his soul !” — “ An’ sure good right 
I have,” she would add, “for it’s me that lost the 
good friend when the breath left his body !” 

So the old house was lonely, lonelier than ever, yet 
all its remaining inmates desired was that they might 
be able to stay in it. Of this there seemed at first 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. If 9 

little probability, notwithstanding the earnest injunc- 
tion of Mr. Ackland during his last illness not to 
break up the old home, or let the old house pass into 
the hands of strangers unless it became actually ne- 
cessary to do so. But Miss Ackland saw no way, at 
first, of paying off some trifling debts, and providing 
the means of present existence, except for Rose to 
take a situation as governess or companion, and her- 
self to sell the house and most of the furniture, then 
remove with Raney to lodgings, and commence giv- 
ing music and drawing lessons, or, perhaps, go out 
as visiting governess. 

But things were not destined to be quite so bad as 
that; Miss Ackland soon found that she had friends 
who were like William of Deloraine, “ good at need,” 
and were quite indignant at the thought of her giving 
up the old place that was so much endeared to them 
all. 

The aunt and niece were busy in-doors that bright 
spring morning ; they had happily left off the sad pre- 
parations before mentioned, and were now arranging 
the large front-parlor on the right-hand side of the 
hall as a school-room, for on the following Monday 
Miss Ackland was to open a school, and quite a num- 
ber of pupils were already promised to her. The 
two ladies were in deep mourning, and Raney, when 
she came in to help, looked every inch the respectable 
old follower of a good family in her black gown and 
clean check apron and cap as white as snow. All 
iherc were grave, but the first shock of grief having 


i60 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


passed away, they could speak now more hopefully 
of the future, and of their opening prospects. On 
that head there was no reserve with Nancy, for 
Nancy was, indeed, one of the family, entirely devoted 
to their interests, and losing therein all thought of 
her own, — so long as the ladies could live together in 
the old house and she with them, Nancy’s wishes 
were amply satisfied. 

“ Wasn’t it just like Mr. Brodigan, Aunt Lydia,” 
said Rose, as she mounted a chair to hang a map of 
the world on the wall — “wasn’t it just like him tp go 
and pay our little debts himself, without even saying 
a word about it ?” 

“ Yes, my dear Rose, that was the act of a gener- 
ous friend. He had asked me to put what we owed 
to each person on paper, just, as he said, for his own 
private information, and to get them to wait a little 
till we should be able to pay them off by degrees.” 

“And Harry Cusack, too, offering his services 
BO kindly, although you didn’t see fit to trouble him 
in any way.” 

“ Of course not. Rose, it would not have been pru- 
dent, you know, to place ourselves under any obliga- 
tion to him^ though I am, and shall ever be deeply 
grateful for his genuine kindness.” 

“ Poor fellow !” said Rose, “ I declare I shall never 
laugh at him again — no, never !” 

“ You should never have laughed at him,” said hei 
aunt gravely, “ his little foibles are all on the sur- 
face, and he is at bottom a very worthy man. I wish, 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 16 1 

iny dear child, you would never amuse yourself at 
the expense of the little peculiarities of your friends 
and acquaintances. It is a dangerous habit.” 

“ Oh dear, Aunt Lydia, there is no need to lecture 
me now on that point ! I am in little humor of laugh- 
ing at any oue since poor dear grandpapa is gone ! 
I don’t think I shall ever, ever laugh again I” And 
fairly bursting into tears, the affectionate girl ran out 
of the room to indulge her grief unseen. 

“ Poor child !” said Nancy wiping her own eyes, 
“ it’ll do her good to have her cry out. It’ll do her 
good. Ochone ! she may well cry him that’s gone, 
an’ so may we all, so may we all !” 

“ Very true, Nancy,” said Miss Ackland, with dif- 
ficulty repressing her own tears, “ but we must all try 
to bear our loss patiently, and go through the busi- 
ness of life as though he were still amongst us.” 

Nancy was silent, but she thought to herself — “ Oh ! 
that’s her all over. She never lets any trouble in on 
her the same as others. An’ sure it’s well for her she 
does not, for if she did she’d be dead herself, or out 
of her wits, long ago, the crature !” 

When the day’s occupations were over and the 
two ladies sat by the fire which the chill evening ren- 
dered still welcome, in the dear old back-parlor so 
hallowed in their recollections, they remained long 
silent, each oppressed by the thick-coming memories 
that started like shadows from the gloom of theif 
hearts. 


162 TUB OLD nOUSE BY TUE BOYNE. 

But at length Miss Ackland made an effort to rouse 

O 

both herself and Bose from their sad reflections. 

“ I wrote to Giacomo to-dayj Bose !” she said 
abruptly. 

“Ah ! he will be sorry to hear of poor grandpa s 
death ; I know he liked him very much.” 

“ He little thought when he wrote that kind letter 
we had from him a few days ago that the little circle 
he remembered so lovingly was already broken by 
cruel death.” ^ 

“ I wonder will he ever come back again, Aunt 
Lydia?” 

“ It is not very likely, my dear, at least for a long 
long time.” 

“ Poor Signor !” said Bose, “ it makes me sad to 
think how merry we all were when he was here, and 
that such a very little while ago.” 

“ Well ! my dear child, that is life, as you will learn 
long before you are my age. To the calm succeeds 
the storm, to the storm, calm ; to sunshine, shade, 
and to shade, sunshine. It is the natural course of 
things, and they are wisest and happiest who can 
bear with equanimity life’s changes as they come.” 

“But, aunt,” said Bose, drawing closer to Miss 
Ackland, and lowering her voice perhaps unconsci- 
ously, “ do you remember how old Mabel sent you 
word one evening by me that she had heard the ban- 
shee often of late, — wasn’t that a strange coincidence 
to say the least of it ?” 

“Not at all, my dear,” said her aunt with a sad 


THE OLD HODSE BY TDE BOYNE. 


163 


imile, “ your grandpapa would have died all the same 
whether Mabel heard the banshee or not — that is, 
what she supposed was the banshee.” 

“ Then you don’t believe in the banshee, aunt ?” 

“ Believe in the banshee — of course I do not. 
That superstition, like many others, has grown out 
of the ardent imagination of the simple and unlet- 
tered of our people in the ages past away.” 

“ But, aunt, every one says that the banshee follows 
all the old families, and when so many people hear 
her, there must be such a being, you know.” 

“ Why, my dear little Rose,” said Miss Ackland, 
with an attempt at cheerfulness, “ I fear you are 
growing superstitious since we have been left all 
alone.” 

“No, no, aunt, indeed I am not superstitious, but 
I want to know how Mabel, or any one else, could 
hear the banshee if there were no banshee to be 
heard. What do you suppose Mabel heard?” 

“ Very possibly the winds, my dear child ! If you 
remember we had stormy weather about that time.” 

“ Yes, I know it was one of those very nights that 
the San Pietro was lost,” and Rose lapsed again into 
thoughtfulness. 

“ Talking of the banshee,” said Miss Ackland, with 
ft view to change the current of her thoughts, “ you 
remember that song of Moore’s, beginning thus — 

“ ‘ How oft has the banshee cried.’ 

How naturally and how beautifully he has embodied 
many of the national customs and the national super- 


164 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B0VN2. 

stitions in his immortal melodies ! Yon know how 
gracefully he introduces one of our old fairy legends 
in the last stanza of ‘ The time I’ve lost in wooing ?’ ” 

“Yes, I know the lines you mean, aunt,” said Rose, 
brightening up, and she repeated with something like 
her former vivacity — 

“ Like him, the sprite, 

Whom maids at night 

Oft meet in glen that’s haunted. 

Like him, too, beauty won me, 

But while her eyes were on me, 

For when her gaze was turn’d away. 

Oh! winds could not outrun me.” 

“You see,” said her aunt, “there is just the old 
story of the leprachaun ^ — the fairies’ shoemaker, — 
which Nancy has often told you.” 

“So it is, I declare! Well! I never thought of 
that, often as I sang the song.” 

Thus insensibly led away from her melancholy 
thoughts, Rose began to turn to the future, and was 
the first to speak of their plans, of the school ar- 
rangements, and other matters appertaining to their 
changing prospects. 

“ I wonder,” said Rose, “ how the Yernons and 
Brodigans — I mean the girls — ^will treat me, now 
that we have come down to teaching school.” 

“ My dear Rose, why do you call it coming down ? 
There is nothing disgraceful, surely, in turning to ac- 
count whatever talents and attainments God has be- 
stowed upon us ?” 


THE OLI) HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


165 


“ Oh ! no, aunt, I didn’t mean that there was, or that 
I am the least ashamed of it, but then, you know, 
others may think differently, and girls, especially, may 
look down on us.” 

“ Rose,” said Miss Ackland very seriously, “ the 
opinion of any one who could look down on us, as 
you say, for maintaining ourselves by our own exer- 
tions, is not worth considering, and if I am not 
much mistaken, we shall be more respected in our 
school-room than we ever were in our days of com- 
parative idleness.” 

Rose shook ,her head and sighed ; she could not 
see the matter in the same light that her aunt did, 
but she would not say so, and both lapsed into silent 
thought. 

# « * * * # 

The school opened on the following Monday, and 
the attendance of pupils was sufficiently encouraging 
to cheer even Rose, who, to do her justice, went into 
the harness with right good will, determined to do 
iier full share of the drudgery of teaching, and save 
her dea-r aunt as much as possible. “ If our school 
does not succeed,” said Rose to herself, and also to 
Nancy, her trusty confidante^ ^‘it shall not be my 
fault, for I am going to do my very best.” Poor Rose ! 
her best was not much, for many a long day and 
week, but she strove hard and finally became a good 
teacher in those branches of instruction which de- 
volved on her. 

Her industry and perseverance were rewarded. 


166 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Contrary to her expectations, and to her very agree- 
able surprise she was not “ looked down upon” by 
her young acquaintances. Invitations poured in on 
her after the first period of mourning had elapsed, 
nd though she accepted none for large parties her 
aunt insisted on her going out evenings more than 
she had ever done before, forcing her own inclinations 
so far as to accompany her. This she did in order to 
keep up Rose’s spirits, and counteract the depressing 
effect of the monotonous and fatiguing occupations of 
her daily life. Miss Ackland, in her watchful care 
of her beloved niece, acted on the homely old axiom 
that ‘‘ all work and no play make Jack a dull boy,” 
and she would not that the freshness of life’s joyous 
springtime should be blighted in its fair promise by 
the unvarying tedium of hard work and unbroken se- 
clusion. 

And Rose made conquests during those times, con- 
quests that much amazed some of her wealthier and 
better dressed acquaintances. Not to speak of Harry 
Cusack, who had become quite particular in his 
attentions, there were some of the first young men of 
the trading community about Drogheda who would 
gladly have won the hand of the portionless grand- 
child of George Ackland, the heiress of his good 
name, and the brightest and fairest of Drogheda 
maidens. But Rose, though gay and affable with all, 
appeared to make no distinction, and received the at- 
tentions of her various admirers more as a matter of 
course than as anything meant to be seriously taken. 


TUE OLD nOOSE BY TUE BOYNE. 


1G7 


Provoked and mortified by her studied indiffbrenoe 
her would-be suitors came one after another to the 
same conclusion that Giacomo had reached months 
before, that Rose Ackland had no heart. Never- 
theless, they were only the more determined to per- 
severe to the end, whatever it might be, for Rose’s 
careless ease was provokingly piquant, and her ad- 
mirers found to their cost that she, by no means, 

“ charm’d them least when she most repell’d.” 

Every Sunday the elder and the younger Miss 
Ackland were expected to spend at Mr. Brodigan’s, 
and around the hospitable board were generally as- 
sembled some of the old familiar faces oftenest seen 
at Mr. Ackland’s — in his more prosperous days. 
They were very pleasant those Sunday dinners at Mr. 
Brodigan’s, — and we might add at many another 
Drogheda merchant’s, — when old friends came to- 
gether, as it were en families week after week, to en- 
joy the bounteous, yet unostentatious hospitality of 
the large hearted host, and his comely spouse, both 
the very personification of good nature ; when almost 
every subject of interest was common to all, and the 
whole circle was in that happy condition prospectively 
described by the poet — 

“ When fast as a feeling but touches one link, 

Its magic shall send it direct thro’ the chain.” 

One peculiarity of these genial reunions was the re- 
markable absence of slander and that ill-natured criti- 
cism on the real or supposed defects, mental, moral or 
physical, of others, which too often makes the staple 


168 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


of conversation. The imperturbable good nature of 
the host and hostess diffused all around them such 
an atmosphere of kindly feeling that the poisonous 
weed of slander might not grow within the sphere of 
their influence. There was much harmless mirth, 
and much development of character, in the unre- 
strained freedom of that friendly intercourse, and one 
always felt that the best feelings of their nature were 
somehow called into play, and that they left Mr. Bro 
digan’s better and happier for being there, and morj 
disposed to look kindly and lovingly on their fellow- 
creatures. Then there were, as might be expected, 
little by-plays going on amongst the well-assorted 
guests and the family of the house, little scenes being 
enacted that just served to rif)ple the otherwise too 
placid stream. There every one being perfectly at 
home, so every one appeared in their own proper 
character, and the distinctive peculiarities of all gave 
zest and variety to the whole. And all were perpe- 
tually furnishing “ coincidences” for worthy Mr. Bro- 
digan, sentimental reflections to his daughter Jane, 
and arch drollery for Rose Ackland. And rosy Mrs. 
Brodigan sat smiling on all in her goodly rotundity 
of figure, fat, fair, and well preserved, her brown hair 
brown as ever, and her brown eyes as soft and calm. 
It was hard to say whether she or her husband most 
enjoyed the society of their friends, or loved the most 
to see them gather around their table. That was 
Drogheda twenty years ago, and all who knew it then 
may well hope that it is so still ! 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


1G9 


The Sunday dinner at Mr. Brodigan’s was gener* 
ally preceded, in the fine season, by an excursion to 
some of the many beautiful places in the vicinity, — 
to Oldbridge and King William’s Glen, to Townley 
Hail, or Bewly, — sometimes to the lovely pastoral 
banks of the Kanny-Water, and the ancient Castle 
of Jigginstown, or Ballygarth, or farther on to Gor- 
manstown Castle, the baronial mansion of the Lords of 
that name, and the noble family of Preston. Or dowii 
to the coast the party might take their way, for a 
pleasant drive along the smootli white sand, past 
Baltray and Mornington and Bettys'own, where the 
people they met all knew them, and exchanged a 
kind, or a humorous greeting with each as they passed 
in their several vehicles, jaunting-car or gig, or “ in- 
side car,” as the case might be. Pleasant they were, 
too, those rural excursions around the old borough, 
to places interesting of themselves, because of the 
lavish hand wherewith mother nature had adorned 
them, each in their kind, and still more interesting 
from their various associations with historical or 
legendary lore. 

It was one of Miss Ackland’s chief enjoyments to 
walk out with Rose in the early evening, when the 
labors and cares of the day were over, and stroll 
leisurely along some of the fine promenades in the 
immediate vicinity of the town. Above all she 
loved, and Rose, too, the picturesque heights of Rath- 
mullen, and the shady walk beneath the over-arch- 
ing trees, between fields and orchards and gardens in 


170 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


their bloom, whence ever and anon were glimpses 
caught of the stream far below, threading its seaward 
way, and through the long vistas of the sylvan alleys 
might be seen at no great distance up the river, the 
Obelisk commemorating the defeat of the too faith- 
ful Irish who fought and died for an ungrateful 
foreign prince. 

There was a certain green meadow, or paddock it 
might be called, just on the verge of the precipitous 
heights overlooking the river; a sweet shady nook it 
was, surrounded by fine old trees, with a path run- 
ning diagonally across it from the road to the brow 
of the steep ; there the two ladies often sat to rest in 
the still evening hour when earth and air were hushed 
and the thin mists were hovering like shadows 
over the landscape far and near. They loved to 
hear the milkmaid singing in some adjoining field 
some old-time ditty of faithful love or pitiful murder ; 
or the laborer going from work, whistling as he 
went. Sometimes they heard from a boat on the 
river, or a cart driving slowly homeward along the 
neighboring highway, snatches of some local song, it 
might be this — 

“ July the First at Oldbridge town, 

There was a grievous battle, 

Where many a man lay on the ground, 

And the cannons loud did rattle.” 

And there was little of sympathy or compassion in 
the voicee thereabouts that sang how 

“ Brave Duke Schomberg lost his life, 

In crossing the Boyne Water.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


171 


But what visions of “ the pomp and circumstance 
of glorious war” did the rustic lay conjure up as, 
with “ Oldbridge town” full in sight, the thoughtful 
mind reverted to that disastrous day nigh two hun- 
dred years before, when three kingdoms were lost 
and bloodily won on that memorable spot, and amid 
those scenes, now so calm, so redolent of peace. 

Anon some full manly voice would come softened 
to the ear over the still waters trolling — 

“ When first to this country a stranger I came, 

I placed my aflections on a comely young dame, 

She’s straight, tall, and handsome in every degree, 

She’s the flower of this country and the Rose of Ardee.” 

Then Miss Ackland would tell her young niece of 
the straggling and neglected village of Ardee away 
in the northern part of the county, adjoining Mon- 
aghan, where one of the old border-castles of the Pale 
still frowns, even in decay, over the quiet street be- 
neath and the tame stretch of level country spread- 
ing around, and where, in a nameless grave some- 
where amongst those sandy knolls, sleeps the outlaw 
Redmond O’Hanlon, treacherously murdered in the 
vicinity by an English captain, to whose plighted 
faith he had trusted his life for the purpose of holding 
a parley. Then Miss Ackland told Rose all the won- 
derful tales that her youth had heard of that strangely- 
misrepresented chieftain, who, instead of being the 
low robber he has been made to appear in latter 
times, was in reality an accomplished gentleman, of 
great personal attractions and of ancient lineage, who 


172 


TUB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


had served in the Austrian wars, like so many other 
Irish exiles of his time, and actually bore the rank of 
a Count of the Empire. From a chivalrous desire to 
aid his oppressed country and co-religionists at home, 
Redmond O'Hanlon returned to his native land, to 
whose service he bravely but ineffectually devoted 
himself as a leader of the outlawed Rapparees or 
“ Tories.” 

Rose was inexpressibly charmed by this romantic 
story of the past, especially as her aunt assured her 
that it was as well authenticated in all its principal 
parts as many recorded on the historic page. The 
girl’s ardent fancy had ample room to exercise itself 
on the hair-breadth ’scapes, the gallant deeds, the 
manifold privations of this Irish prcux chevalier^ in his 
roving life of incessant danger with the w'ild and 
lawless band who called him master. 

Lost in this new region of old romance. Rose was 
almost sorry when her aunt reminded her that 
night was fast closing in, and that they had rather a 
lonely walk home. 

They had just crossed the stile to the high-road 
when an incident occurred which alarmed Rose, and 
even her aunt, more than a little, and convinced them 
that it was not prudent to linger so late in that se- 
cluded spot, however great might be the temptation. 



CHAPTER X. 

A PARTY of officers, three in number, and evidently 
fresh from the mess-room, were passing at the mo- 
ment ; they laughed and talked in that loud excited 
way wffiich indicates a certain degree of intoxication, 
and seeing the two ladies they probably thought it a 
good opportunity for having “ a lark.” The youngest 
of the three, accordingly, came up to Rose, and with 
a mock politeness offered his arm, asking permission 
to “ see her home.” Another did the same to Miss 
Ackland, whilst a third, a tall, soldierly man, stood as 
if enjoying the joke. Miss Ackland drew her niece’s 
arm within her own, and merely saying — “ I perceive, 
gentlemen, you are under a mistake,” walked on with 
as much composure as she could assume. But the 
others were not to be so got rid of ; declaring with 
ironical gravity that they could not think of allowing 
ladies to remain unprotected at that late hour, and 
exchanging glances amongst themselves, they walked 
on beside the aunt and niece, peering under their 
bonnets, and otherwise annoying them by ridiculous 
questions which, of course, they did not deign to no- 
tice. The two first mentioned kept their places on 


174 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


either side of the ladies, whilst the elder amused 
himself with the gambols of a magnificent gray hound, 
a creature of rare grace and beauty. 

“ Now, by Jove, I call this the rarest piece of good 
fortune,” said suddenly the gentleman who had suc- 
ceeded in getting a glimpse of Rose’s face, “ why, 
Singleton ! this is the very young lady whom I saw 
the other day with Miss Ball.” 

“ You don’t say so, Cornell ?” 

“ But I do ! — pray. Miss — ah ! excuse me — I forget 
your name!” speaking in that exaggerated Eng- 
lish accent wherein young Cockney militaires are 
wont to exhibit their brainless coxcombry, “ may I 
have the honor?” and bowing with more real 
politeness than before, he again offered his arm. 
Rose only answered by shrinking closer to her aunt, 
while both quickened their steps in more trepida- 
tion than they wished to have seen. But the gen- 
tlemen saw it and were much amused, asking did 
the ladiess uppose they were going to run away with 
them. 

“ So you will not favor me with your name, ah ?” 
lisped the young Englishman, addressing Rose. 

“ Sir,” said Miss Ackland stopping short in her 
walk, and drawing herself up with that dignity which 
no one better could assume, and she looked the im- 
pudent coxcomb full in the face, “ Sir, I will tell you 
this young lady’s name which is also mine — it is 
Ackland — a name old and not unhonored here in 
Drogheda.” The young man, as if by an involuntary 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


175 


impulse, drew back a pace or two, and raised his 
tnilitary cap with the respect of a gentleman for a 
ady. His companion followed his example. 

At this moment the elder officer, with an authori- 
tative “ Down. Cato !” to his dog, eagerly approached 
Miss Ackland, and stopping in front of her said — in 
a deep and as it seemed an agitated voice — 

“ Ackland ! Did you say, madam, that your name 
is Ackland ?” 

“ Sir, I did,” the lady replied, wondering much at 
the stranger’s question and the emotion he betrayed. 

“ Any relation, may I ask, of George Ackland ?” 

“ His daughter, sir, his only daughter, and this 
young lady is his granddaughter, and my niece.” 

The gentleman turned aside for a moment, pressed 
his hand to his forehead as though to still the throb- 
bing brain, then turning to Miss Ackland with freez- 
mg politeness, he said — ■ 

“ I have heard the name before, although I am a 
stranger in Drogheda, having joined my regiment 
here at Millmount but a few days since. Pass on, 
madam ! — Miss Ackland, did you say ? ” 

“ Miss Ackland.” 

“ Strange I” he muttered, again raising his hand to 
his brow, then recollecting himself he bowed still 
coldly, but yet courteously — “ Pass on, ladies ! you 
shall receive no further annoyance ! — young gentle^ 
men ! let us continue our walk !” 

“ As you please. Major Melville 1” one of them re- 
plied. 


176 


THE OLD UOLSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“Melville!” repeated Miss Ackland in her turn, 
agitated by some powerful emotion. 

“Ay, Melville!” the officer replied, and, lowering 
his voice so as only to be heard by the person ad^ 
dressed, he said in a whisper — “ the brother of Ralph 
Melville, whom you may have forgotten, — but / have 
not !” he sternly, almost fiercely added, then, taking 
the arm of one of his companions, he turned away, 
and the ladies were left to pursue their way in peace. 
Nor did they have any more boisterous laughter or 
loud talk from the party of officers, sobered^ it would 
seem, by the late rencontre^ the two younger probably 
ashamed of their conduct, now that they found the 
ladies they had so annoyed were really entitled to 
their respect. Of the little episode between their 
newly-arrived major and the elder lady they were, of 
course, unaware, so could form no surmises on the 
subject. 

It was with no ordinary pleasure that the ladies 
found themselves back again in the secure shelter of 
their own quiet home ; outside the door they were 
met by Nancy, who had grown uneasy when the 
night began to fall, and they not yet returned. 
Fervent, indeed, was her act of thanksgiving as she 
saw them through the dim twilight ascending the 
steps, and with all the alacrity of youth she hastened 
to meet them. 

“ Oh ! the Lord be praised. Miss Ackland dear I 
sure it’s beginnin’ to be afeard I was that something 
had happened !” 


THE OLD nODSE BY THE BOYNE. 


177 


Rose was just beginning to tell, in a half jesting 
way, tbuL something had happened, but her aunt 
stopped her by asking Nancy if tea were ready. 
The old woman vanished directly. 

“ Now^, my dear Rose,” s«,id Miss Ackland, laying 
her hand on her niece’s arm, and Rose shrank from 
its touch, for it was icy cold — “ now, my dear Rose, 
what have you to tell Nancy that is worth telling ? 
Let us go in; I feel weak and tired.” 

When they reached the parlor, where two candles 
were burning on either end of the high, old-fashioned 
mantel-piece. Miss Ackland sank heavily into a chair, 
it was her father’s “ old arm-chair.” The light from 
the mantel-piece shed a ghastly glare on her features, 
and Rose was shocked to see them pale as death. 
She would have run to fetch Nancy, but her aunt 
gently detained her, saying that it was only a little 
fatigued she was, and a cup of tea was all she re- 
quired. 

“ I knew you were more alarmed than you allowed 
them to see, aunt,” said Rose, as she took off Miss 
Ackland’s bonnet and mantilla ; “ we really must not 
put ourselves again in the way of such an adventure.’ 

“We shall have to go out earlier,” said Miss Ack- 
land in a languid tone, “ and enjoy the twilight at 
home,” she added with a wan smile. 

“ But did you observe, my dear aunt, what a fine- 
looking man that Major Melville is ? I really could 
not help admiring him as he stood for a moment near 
you.” 


178 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Melville !” cried Nancy, who was lust coming in 
with the tea-pot in one hand, and a small plate of 
crumpets in the other. “Who’s that you’re talkin’ 
about. Miss Kosey ?” 

“ Of a gentleman we met since we went out,” said 
Miss Ackland, raising herself in her chair and endea- 
voring to regain her usual composure. 

“ A gentleman ? What gentleman ?” persisted 
Nancy, laying down her light burden and fixing her 
eyes on her mistress. 

“ An officer,” said Miss Ackland, smiling at the 
simple earnestness of her old domestic, then she 
added with a strange smile — “Not a dead Melville, 
Nancy, but a living one — no ghost, I assure you !” 

The old woman appeared to understand the allu- 
sion, she muttered something to herself, unintelligible 
to others, and placing the two lonely-looking chairs 
at the table, she said, “ Tea’s on the table. Miss Ack- 
land !” then withdrew to her own premises, to pon- 
der on the circumstance — to her simple mind extra- 
ordinary — of the ladies having “ come across” a gen- 
tleman of the once-familiar name of Melville, so long 
unnamed under that roof. 

“ Why, aunt,” said Rose innocently, “ the name of 
Melville seems to be familiar to Nancy. Did you, 
then, ever know any one of the name ?” 

“Yes, Rose,” said Miss Ackland, laying down the 
cup of tea which her trembling hand refused to hold, 
“I once had a friend of that name— many, -many 
years ago.” Her soft eyes filled with tears, and there 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


179 


was a depth of sadness in her low, tremulous voice 
that told of such sorrow as Rose had never known. 
This the girl felt, and she was silent, revolving in her 
mind whether the friend so tenderly remembered 
might not be the gentleman of whom Raney had once 
spoken to her. 

“ Rose,” said Miss Ackland, “ please to ring for 
Nancy. I see you have finished your tea.” 

The tea-things were removed, and Miss Ackland, 
instead of taking up a book or her knitting, as usual, 
threw hack the curtains from the window, and stood 
looking out on the moonlit sky and the lovely pan- 
orama of land and water that stretched far and 
away beneath that gorgeous canopy. There was a 
chair in the deep recess of the window, and Miss 
Ackland seating herself there at last, beckoned Rose 
to her. 

Bring that ottoman. Rose, and sit down here be- 
side me.” Rose joyfully obeyed, never so happy as 
when near her aunt. Then both were silent for a 
long, long while, looking dreamily out on the fair 
night, whose blue depths and whose silvery light 
were so very like the heaven we dream of in our 
better moments. 

“ Yes, Rose,” said Miss Ackland, as if resuming the 
theme of that brief conversation which, broken oft' all 
too soon, had so deeply interested Rose, “ yes, my 
child, the name of Melville is one that shall live in 
my heart w^hile its pulses beat — yet though sweet as 
music to my ears, it is the most painful of sounds, 


180 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


awaking the very bitterest of thoughts, and the sad* 
dest of recollections.” 

“ My dear aunt !” whispered Rose soothingly — she 
had never heard her speak so before. 

“ Rose, you are all I have now left to comfort me,” 
resumed Miss Ackland — “ we two are alone in the 
world — why, then, should I not make you acquainted 
with the one secret of my life, that ‘ silent sorrow’ 
which has preyed upon my heart so long ? Whilst 
my dear father lived I had one who knew and under- 
stood the cause of my life-long sadness, but since 
he is gone, I feel the load heavier than ever, and I see 
no reason now why I should not admit you, the last 
of all my kin, into the solitude of my heart.” 

Rose answered only by a fond caress, and her 
aunt went on after a moment’s recollection : “ I was 
about your age, my dear Rose, when I first became 
acquainted with Ralph Melville, then some three 
years older ; his family belonged to the county Kil- 
dare, but he had embraced a seafaring life some years 
before, when a mere boy, at the request and under 
the care of a maternal uncle, who was captain and 
part owner of a large merchant vessel tr.ading chiefly 
between the Mediterranean ports and those of the 
British Islands. The captain and my father had had 
much connection in business — indeed, he was one of 
the two partners of Capt.'^Dillon in the ownership of 
the vessel. They were old and fast friends, and when 
Ralph began to go to sea with his uncle, — after 
spending some years at school in Leghorn, — he was, 


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181 


of course, received with the same cordial welcome 
at our house, when their vessel came to Drogheda, 
first on account of his uncle, but very soon on his 
own. Years passed on, and the handsome youth 
became a man, and such a man ! — oh ! Rose, I shall 
not attempt to describe him to you, — suffice it to say 
that it was not in his features or his form the charm 
lay that won all hearts. It was in the frank and 
generous nature, the delicacy of feeling, and the na- 
tural grace and refinement that manifested themselves 
in every word and action, with a gay, dashing, degagi 
air that was infinitely pleasing, and as far removed 
as could be from the self-occupation of vanity.'’ 

“ It seems as though I could see him now,” said 
Rose in a low tone, as if fearing to interrupt the nar- 
rative even by a sound ; “I^ancy has told me what he 
looked like.” 

“Oh! she has, has she? — poor old Nancy! she 
loved him, too, and so did Mabel — how could they 
help it, for he was kind and gererous to all? And 
there was one who loved Ralph Melville better than 
all, but I think — ^I fear he never knew it.” Rose did 
not ask who that one was, she knew it all too well. 
Miss Ackland paused, as if to collect her thoughts 
for the remaining portion of the narrative, but in 
reality to control her feelings, so as to speak with the 
composure that became her sober years. Having 
partially succeeded, she continued her recital : 

“ I was young then, my dear Rose, for you will re- 
member that it was ‘twenty golden years ago’ — 


182 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


young I was, and, as some people thought, well- 
favored” — she smiled — “ amongst these was Kalph 
Melville, who, unhappily for himself, learned to love 
me as man, or woman eitlier, can love but once. 
And how proud I was of his love I will not attempt 
to conceal from you. So he used to come the wel- 
oomest of guests, to this old house of ours, whenever 
his ship came to Drogheda ; he came, to one at least, 
‘ Like birds that bring Summer and fly when ’Lis o'er.’ 

His first visits were with hhi uncle^ a hale, hearty 
old gentleman, and a ‘jolly tar’ to boot, manifesting 
in his own proper person the very best characteristics 
of the profession. I believe Captain Dillon cherished 
the hope of making a match, as he would call it, be- 
tween his favorite nephew and the only daughter of 
his old friend, but I soon discovered that my father 
had higher views for me, and began to look coldly on 
Ralph Melville, perceiving in what light he regarded 
me. But one dull Autunm day, Ralph came alone, 
with crape on his hat, and sorrow in his eyes and in 
his heart ; his good old uncle, his more than father, 
had died suddenly whilst on a short visit at their 
house, — which was really his home, for he had no 
other. This was sad news for us ail, for we loved 
the blunt, warm-hearted sailor, and we grieved to 
think that we should see his honest face no more. 
Alas ! for ‘ the old familiar faces’ — how they vanish 
one by one from our life’s darkening path ever as we 
journey onward 1 The old man had fortunately left 
a will, and his share of the Frances Anne (the ship 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


183 


was named after Mrs. Melville, Ralph’s mother) was 
left to Ralph, with a recommendation to the other 
partners to give him the command ; the few thou 
sand pounds the captain had had in the Bank of Ire- 
land was the only provision now remaining for his- 
widowed sister and two younger children, a youth 
of nineteen and a girl of sixteen. 

“ Some three months had passed before Ralph Mel- 
ville came again to Drogheda ; he appeared in some- 
what better spirits, and when I made the remark to 
him, he said it was so, and asked me to guess why. 
I told him I was not good at guessing, my cheek 
burning all the while with the consciousness of what 
was coming. ‘ I have obtained my mother’s consent,’ 
said he, ‘ to woo and win a wife — that is if I can.’ 

‘ Indeed ?’ I replied — with an air which he mistook for 
cold indifference, but which was really meant to hide 
the joy that filled my soul. ‘Indeed!’ repeated 
Ralph, looking in my face with so keen a scrutiny 
that I shrank from his glance as though I had, indeed, 
something to conceal. Poor Ralph ! I can see it yet, 
the shadow that fell on the brightness of his face, 
and till the day I die I can never forget the altered 
tone in which he spoke again. ‘Excuse me. Miss 
Ackland I’ he said, (it was the first time in two years 
he had called me so,) ‘ I had flattered myself that you 
were a party interested. I see I was mistaken, and 
have only to crave your pardon for the unwarranta* 
ble liberty I took in supposing that the heiress of Mr.- 
Ackland’s fortune could be interested in the affairs of 


184 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


one SO humble as myself.’ I know not what evil 
spirit it was that prompted me to leave him in the 
strange blindness that had come upon him, but I did 
BO to my life-long regret. I replied with real cold- 
ness, piqued that he should not have seen and known 
my real feelings : ‘ Really, Captain Melville, you 

talk in riddles, and I am so dull in comprehension 
that I do not understand you.’ — ‘ Then you never 
shall understand me now,’ he said in a quick, decided 
tone. ‘ /, at least, understand it all. I refused to be- 
lieve what I had heard when last in Drogheda, that 
your father had negociations on foot for your mai> 
riage with a certain gentleman, the owner of an 
estate somewhere in the county Meath — now I be- 
lieve it when too late to recall my own folly How 
I longed to tell him that such a union had been pro- 
posed to me with my father’s fullest approbation, but 
that I had refused and for his sake as much as my 
own! But I would not so far humble my foolish 
pride, and merely saying — ‘You are, of course, at 
liberty to believe what you please. Captain Melville 1’ 
I left him.” 

“ You left him I” cried Rose ; “ oh ! aunt, how could 
you act so ?” 

“ You may well ask that, my dearest Rose ! — it is 
the question that echoes in my heart all these long 
and weary years since then.” 

“ But what did Captain Melville do then, Aunt Ly- 
dia ? — Did he go away for good ?” 

“ For good !” Miss Ackland repeated with sorrow- 


THE -OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


185 


ful emphasis, and she raised her tearful eyes to hea* 
ven. After a moment’s pause she continued : “ In a 
sort of dogged resolution, I suppose, to know exactly 
how the matter stood, and, perhaps, svith a view to 
justify to himself the final farewell he meant to take 
of us, it seems Ralph went straight to my father and 
asked whether he had any objection to him as a suitor 
for his daughter. My father told him in a hesitating 
sort of way that he thought his circumstances were 
not such as to make the match an eligible one for me 
with my expectations. ‘ Precisely so, sir,’ was Ralph 
Melville’s answer, ‘ I am sorry I troubled you on the 
subject ; however, it is well to know exactly where 
one stands. Will you say good-bye for me to Miss 
Ackland in case I should not see her again before 
leaving Drogheda ?’ And he shook my father by the 
hand, and wishing him ‘ good morning,’ went away 
before he could make up his mind what further to 
say. Rose, we never again saw Ralph Melville.” 

“ Why, how was th.at. Aunt Lydia ?” 

“ He sailed for Civita Vecchia that same afternoon, 
two day s earlier than he had intended, but he never 
reached the Italian coast ; the equinoctial gales set 
in that very night with unusual violence, and in the 
fierce storm that raged during the hours of darkness, 
bis ship perished, with all on board. Oh, that I should 
live to tell it !” 

“Perished!” cried Rose in horror; “oh aunt! 
Dunt !” 

Miss Ackland covered her face with her hands, and 


186 TUB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

vrept Ic g in silence, unbroken by Rose, whose lender 
heart was too deeply touched for verbal expression. 

“I can weep now,” said Miss Ackland at length, 
as she wiped away her tears, “ I can weep now, 
but I could not weep then ; no, not for weeks and 
weeks, although my heart was breaking with the 
double weight of sorrow and of self-reproach; by 
night and by day I grieved for the words that I 
might have said, and did not say — the words of ex- 
planation that would have made Ralph happy, and 
kept him near me, instead of sending him to his death 
by my fooUsh pride and petulance ! Oh ! how severe 
has been my punishment !” 

“ My dear aunt !” said Rose very gently, “ you 
surely accuse yourself too harshly ; as you never saw 
Captain Melville after that, how could you be certain 
that you were the cause of his leaving on that day ?” 

“ Ah ! Rose, he took care to make me certain ; Nancy 
had been into town that day on business for me, and 
coming back, by the lower road, she found Captain 
Melville walking hastily to and fro outside the gate, — 
seeing her, he gave her a note for me, and to her 
great astonishment, bade her good-bye, saying as he 
shook hands with her — ‘ I am going now, Nancy, 
never to come back again — not wdth my own will, 
be assured, for my heart is here.’ He was gone be- 
fore Nancy could get over her bewilderment suffi- 
ciently to ask what he meant. The note contained 
but these words — ‘■Lydia^ farewell! — It is hard to. 
forgive you^ but I d) — be hapjry^ if you can^ and forget 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


187 


Kalph Melville? My father read that fatal note, for 
when he came home it lay open on the table, beside 
which I sat in a sort of stupor ; he read it and read 
my heart, and ever after understood the bitterness of 
seh-reproach that mingled with my grief, and Nancy, 
too, rightly interpreting Captain Melville’s parting 
words, but supposing from them that I had refused 
him, was long before she forgave me, indeed, I know 
not if she has yet, or ever will. She thought I was 
more in fault than I actually was, and she blamed me 
all the more because I did not choose to let her see 
the deep wound festering in my heart.” 

“ My poor dear aunt !” whispered Rose, “ who 
could have dreamed of all this ?” 

“ It was known only to my poor father,” said Miss 
Ackland, in a voice of strong emotion ; “ that is, the 
real state of the case, and since he died I have borne 
my load of vain regret alone — all alone — as far as my 
fellow-mortals are concerned. This evening some- 
thing occurred that has torn open again the wounds 
half-healed by time.” 

Rose started. “ How ? is it anything connected 
with those officers 

“ Yes, my dear Rose, you will not wonder at my 
agitation when I tell you that in the eldest of the 
three I discovered Guy Melville, the only brother of 
my lost Ralph !” 

“ You did ?” 

“ Yes, I did, and he contrived to make me sensb 
ble that he, too, blames me as the indirect cause of 


188 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

his brother’s untimely death ! — strange that he should 
know what occurred on that last sad day, but he cvi* 
dently does, all too well. Oh Rose ! Rose ! I am 
miserably punished for a fault that of itself was only 
trivial, and certainly unintentional ! To think how I 
loved Ralph Melville — the long years I have mourned 
him, and the gloom that settled down on my path of 
life when I lost him, and to know that his nearest and 
dearest do me such cruel injustice ! This is hard — 
hard — and it is only from above I ask and obtain 
strength to bear it. Rose, my dear child, it is selfish 
of me to make you acquainted with my life’s great 
Borz'ow. But the heart will pine for human sympa- 
thy, and it lightens the burden of grief to know that 
we possess it.” 

The fond embrace with which Rose answered, and 
the tears that filled her eyes, gave assurance to her 
aunt that there was still one heart she could call her 
own, and whose sympathies were all bound up with 
hers. There was comfort in the thought, and she 
marvelled much during the wakeful hours of that 
night how much feeling lay concealed under the 
youthful buoyancy of her niece’s outward bearing. 

The truth was that the revelations of that night 
wrought a change in Rose’s interior that was very 
perceptible to herself, if not to others. She felt as 
though years had passed over her head, and left jtheir 
seared impress on her heart during that one still 
moonlight hour when she listened to her aunt’s 
simple tale of sorrow, and learned, for the first time, 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


189 


the strange power that one heart may exercise over 
another, and the deeper depths that may lie hidden 
from mortal eye beneath the outward seeming of 
ordinary liie. A veil seemed suddenly to have been 
lifted from before her eyes, and the world appeared 
to her under a new aspect. Or rather, her aunt’s 
story was to Kose Actland’s perceptions, like the 
ointment in the fairy tale which, rubbed on mortal 
eyes, opens them to the sights and seeings of another 
sphere of existence. Thoughts and feelings unknown 
before all at once started into life, seeming now as 
old companions, and Rose felt all the happier for the 
change that had taken place within her, and the new 
range of vision opened before her. Yet outwardly 
she was still the same, perhaps a shade more thoughtr 
ful and subdued, but still habitually the gay, laughing 
girl who made sunshine all around her in her little 
sphere of life. But it was very touching to see the 
new relation in which the aunt and niece stood to 
each other ; a tie, far stronger than that of blood, had 
suddenly bound their hearts together, and in the 
gentle sympathy of Rose, so sweetly and tenderly 
manifested, her aunt found a solace for her woes, 
such as she had never dreamed of obtaining. Her 
past being now all known to her niece, she could 
talk to her at times of her loved and early lost, and 
It seemed as though her heart were lightened of its 
heaviest burden by the privilege of weaving over 
with Rose the web of her life, the joys and griefs, 
the pleasures and the pains of those by-gone years of 


190 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


whose flight no record now remained save in her own 
heart. 

It was long a source of trouble and apprehension 
to Miss Ackland that the brother of Ralph Melville 
should be in Drogheda and might at any moment 
cross her path ogain, with his stern look, and settled 
dislike, and his voice so like one never-to-be-forgotten, 
yet so full of anger and contempt. But weeks past 
away, and no Major Melville was seen, and her fears 
gradually subsided. The stream of her life flowed on 
as before in its calm monotony, — for how long, who 
could tell ? 





CHAPTER XI. 


Two weeks had passed after the conversation of 
that memorable evening, without any further inter* 
ruption to the placid tranquillity which marked the 
daily life of the aunt and niece. At the end of that 
time, they walked down to Baltray one lovely after- 
noon, immediately after school was dismissed, to see 
old Mabel, who was now too feeble to leave the cot- 
tage, and spent the time she was not in bed, sitting 
at the door in the sunshine, talking drearily to her- 
self, or watching her grandchildren, as they rolled and 
tumbled in the sand hard by. 

“ I thought you’d come the day. Miss Liddy,” was 
her reply to Miss Ackland’s kindly greeting ; “ some- 
thin’ was tellin’ me ever since mornin’ that I’d see 
you before night. An’ Miss Rose, too — sure, but it 
does me good to see you both, an’ it’s thankful I am 
that I can see you, for the sight is goin’ fast from me.’’ 

“ Mabel !’’ said Miss Ackland, sitting down beside 
her on the rough wooden bench, “ who do you think 
I met since I saw you last ?” 

“ Who asked the old woman curtly but anxiously, 
turning towards the lady whom she still regarded as 
her mistress. 


192 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 

“ Why, Mr. Guy Melville,” and she lowered her 
voice. 

“ Guy Melville ! ’ repeated the old woman with 
suddenly awakened interest. Why, that should be 
his brother — it was Guy he used to call him. An’ 
where did you meet him. Miss Liddy, asthore ? ’ 

“ On the Rathmullen road when Miss Rose and I 
were taking our evening walk, about two weeks ago. 
It -appears Mr. Melville is an officer in the army, and 
belongs to the 88th, now stationed at Millmount.” 

“ Well ! an’ what did he say ? Did he know you. 
Miss Liddy, dear ?” 

“ Yes — but not till I had told him who I was. 
There did not much pass between us then, and I 
have not seen him since.” 

“ But I have seen him, aunt,” said Rose, who had 
been standing an apparently unconcerned listener, 
watching the fleecy white clouds that were sailing 
slowly over the face of the western sky, their upper 
edges tipped with the gold of the still gorgeous sun- 
shine. “I forgot to tell you that I had seen Major 
Melville once or twice, — but not to speak to him. It 
was only yesterday that I met him and one of those 
officers who were with him that evening, as I came 
along Palace street from Georgina Neville’s.” 

It did not escape Miss Ackland’s watchful eyes 
that Rose said this with a somewhat heightened 
color, but that was not the place or the time to make 
any sort of comment, so she merely said, “ Oh in 
deed ?” and turned again to old Mabel. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


193 


“ You see I speak now of — of Capt. Melville” — she 
added, getting rapidly over the name — “ even before 
Miss Rose. I have told her all, Mabel.” 

“An’ I’m glad you did,” said the crone, with an 
oracular nod, “ it’s what you should have done many’s 
the day ago. It ’ll do you good, asthore, to open 
your mind to somebody, an’ now that the ould mas- 
ter is gone — the heavens be his bed ! — I b’lieve there 
was nobody livin’ — ^hereabouts, anyway, — that knew 
anything about what’s come an’ gone, in regard to 
the Captain that was, barrin’ myself an’ Nancy. 
An’ sure, in the coorse of nature, neither of us ’ill be 
long in it. Then you’d have no one at all to spake a 
word to about what’s ever more in your mind.” 

“Very true, Mabel, and that is just the reason wby 
I told my niece the sad story.” 

“Ah ! Miss Liddy dear !” said the old woman alter 
a long pause, “ I think I could die happy if I c^>uld 
once see you in the way of bein’ happy. But, ochone ! 
sure there’s little chance o’ that, in this world, any- 
how !” 

“ Little chance, indeed,” said Miss Ackland, rising, 
“ unless either the dead could come back to life, or 
somebody convince me that the past was all a dream. 
But still, Mabel, we must Avork our passage through 
in the best way we can, and take things as they 
come. Happiness is not for this world, you know I 
We shall all meet, I hope, where happiness is, and is 
eternal. Good-bye, Mabel ! be sure and send me 
word if you want anything.” 


194 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ I will, asthore! I will, for I know it ’id fret you to 
think that poor Mabel did want for anything. Well ! 
all I can do is to pray for you an’ Miss Rose, an’ that 
I do from my heart out, night an’ mornin’, on my 
bended knees; an’ when the, world’s sleepiii’, an’ onl^i 
the dead to the fore, I pray for you, too, an’ some- 
times I think the dead answers me, an’ there comes 
like a whisper in my ear that there’s bright days be- 
fore you still! Go now, an’ God be with you !” 

Going out from the cottage, the ladies stopped a 
moment to speak to the children, when as they 
turned to regain the high road through the village, 
they were startled to see on the smooth white sand 
the name Giacomo plainly written in large fair cha- 
racters. 

“ What can it mean ?” said Miss Ackland to her 
niece who stood gazing on the name with a wild, 
startled look, her color changing like the April sky. 

“ It is hard to say,” Rose replied, “ he cannot have 
been here, yet who could have written his name in 
such a place ?” 

A thought struck Miss Ackland ; she once more 
approached the children and asked them who wrote 
that, pointing to the name on the sand. 

“ That 1” replied the eldest, “ oh ! the gentleman 
made that there a while ago when you were in with 
granny.” 

“ What gentleman ? Did you know him ?” 

No, none of the children knew him, so the ladies 
were forced to return home in the anxious suspense 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


195 


arising from this singular incident. They half ex- 
pected on reaching home to find the young Leghorner 
there before them, but in answer to their eager 
inquiry, whether any one had been there since they 
left, Nancy replied in her matter-of-fact way — “ Oh 
the sorra one, then, barrin’ Catty Nugent that 
called to see if we wanted any fish for the morrow. 
She says she has the best of haddock, an’ some rale 
good pike, if we’d be for havin’ any. An’ she’ll have 
sole an’ fresh herrin’s the morrow mornin’, she expects, 
for her man is out all day.” 

“ Oh ! dear me, Nancy,” cried Rose with an impa- 
tient gesture, “ do let us alone about Catty Nugent’s 
fish. We don’t care if she never had any.” 

Why, then. Miss Rose,” said Nancy with an air 
of offended dignity, “ it’s newens for you not to care 
about your Friday’s dinner. There’s nobody in the 
house so hard to plase, I’m sure, any day in the 
week, in regard to what’s put before you. But all’s 
one to me. It’s little fish sarves my turn, or mate, 
aither, for the matter of that.” And she betook her- 
self to her o^vn quarter of the house, closing the 
kitchen door after her with no gentle motion. 

“ You must go, by and by, and pacify poor Nancy,” 
said Miss Ackland, ever alive to the feelings of others. 

“Oh! that is easily done. Aunt Lydia! — but you 
see Giacomo has not come. How very strange !” 

“ He may have arrived,” said her aunt thoughtfully 
“ although he has not been here yet. W e may pro- 
bably see him before long. Yet even if he had come, 


196 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


I wonder what could have taken him to Baltray, or 
why he should go write his name in the sand near 
Mabel’s door !” 

“ That is just what puzzles me, aunt !” 

“Well! in any case, it is useless to waste time in 
idle speculations on the subject. I declare it is 
almost tea-time. I will go myself to the kitchen, and 
I shall tell Nancy at the same time what we saw at 
Baltray, in order to excuse your impatience.” 

A day or two after, who should drop in for an 
afternoon call but the two Miss Brodigans. After 
some desultory conversation. Miss Jane said in her 
languid way — 

“ So your Italian friend is come back. Of course 
you have seen him ?” 

“ Why no,” Miss Ackland replied, “ we have not 
seen him.” 

“ Have you seen him ?” asked Rose in a careless 
tone. 

“ Well I no, but a friend of ours did !” 

“And where, pray I” said Rose in the same tone. 

“ In Lawrence street, not so far from here,” said 
Miss Brodigan ; “ it is strange he did not call on you 
immediately. It was the evening before last, I think, 
that Tiernan saw him.” 

“ Or thought he saw him,” said Rose with a smile 
of incredulity. Yet she and her aunt exchanged 
meaning glances, for that was the evening of the day 
on which they had been to Baltray. 

“I see you are incredulous, Rose,” said Anne Brodi- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


197 


gan, a little annoyed by her tone and manner ; “ of 
course, you think, and you ought to know best, that 
the young gentleman could not possibly be an hour, 
much less a day, in Drogheda without your seeing 
him.” 

“ Without my seeing him ?” said Rose haughtily ; 
“ you are much mistaken. Miss Brodigan, if you sup- 
pose I have any special claims on Signor Giacomo’s 
attention. My aunt may have, for she was very kind 
to him during his illness, but as for me, he owes me 
nothing, and I expect nothing from him.” 

“ Oh ! of course not, now,” lisped languid Miss Jane-. 

“ Ro, nor ihenj'* replied Rose with increasing vehe* 
mence ; she was really annoyed at their meddling in- 
sinuations. 

“Not since the military came into favor, at all 
events,” said Miss Brodigan, with a meaning smile as 
she and her sister rose to take their departure. 

“What do you mean by that, Anne Brodigan?” 
said Rose, with a sudden change of voice and man- 
ner, and her aunt was pained to see that her face was 
all in a glow. 

“ Oh ! nothing at all,” was the reply, “ only you 
know. Rose, the scarlet fever •is prevalent here just 
now, and I really did not know whether you had es- 
caped it or not. Good-bye, Miss Ackland ! Good- 
bye, Rosey ! I forgot to say that mamma sends her 
kind love to you both, fair ladies of the hill ! Good- 
bye!” Miss Jane nodded and smiled, hands were 
mutually shaken, and the visitors retired. There was 


198 Tl'lE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOVNE. 

a short silence after they left, then Miss Aokland said 
somewhat abstractedly — 

“ I begin to think that Giacomo may be here, or 
has been here. But if so, it is passing strange that 
we have not seen him.” 

“ So strange, indeed,” said Rose, “ that I cannot 
believe it.” 

“ The evening is fine,” said Miss Ackland, an hour 
or two later, when the sun was sinking in the west, 
“ let us walk a while in the garden,” and she drew 
her niece’s arm within her own. After taking a few 
turns round the garden, which was not very large, 
and for the most part exhibiting the useful rather 
than the ornamental in its botanic arrangement, they 
stopped to catch the last faint glow of sunset fiushing 
the distant sea with crimson, and Miss Ackland said — 

“ Rose, I have a question to ask you.” 

“ Indeed, Aunt Lydia ? — and pray what is it ?” said 
Rose in a hesitating sort of way. 

“ What did Anne Brodigan mean about the mili- 
tary, and the scarlet fever. She spoke with a pointed- 
ness which you seemed to understand.” 

Rose laughed, but her laugh was not the same free, 
joyous one that her aunt was accustomed to hear. 
“ Why, my dear Aunt Lydia, what importance can 
you possibly attach to Anne’s silly badinage? You 
ought to know her by this time ?” 

There was a slight rustling amongst the bushes 
near by, that made both ladies start and turn quickly 
in the direction of the sound. No living thing was 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


199 


to be seen, however, except a linnet that sat on the 
topmost bough of an apple-tree warbling its vesper 
song. 

“Yet, Rose, I fancied there was a consciousness in 
your look and manner, while she spoke, that somehow 
reminded me of what you said yourself in Mabel’s 
cottage the other day.” 

“What was that. Aunt Lydia?” 

“ That you had met Major Melville more than once, 
and with him some of his brother officers. Why did 
you not tell me that before ?” 

“ Well ! I told you then^ my dear aunt, and I’ll tell 
about it now, although it is scarcely worth the telling.” 
Was it the linnet that shook the branches, and crush- 
ed the dry leaves on the ground as though human 
foot were there ? 

“ The truth is, aunt,” resumed Rose with a cheer- 
fulness that re-assured Miss Ackland, “ I have been a 
little annoyed by some of those same military gentle- 
men, especially that Lieutenant Cornell, since wo 
were so unlucky as to meet them that evening. They 
will salute me when we meet, on the street, and that 
is oftener than I could wish, and as for Cornell he has 
once or twice addressed me with the familiarity of an 
old acquaintance.” 

“ But you have not answered him, have you ? or 
recognized any of the others ?” 

“ Certainly not. Aunt Lydia ! I should do little 
credit to your teaching were I capable of exchanging 
salutes with gentlemen who have never been intro- 


200 


THE OLD HOUSE BY mE BOYNE. 


duced to me, and whom I only know as iropudent 
and intrusive.” 

“There spoke ray own Rose,” said the aunt with 
proud affection ; “ shall I confess that you have taken 
a load off my heart ?” 

“Why, surely, you did not suspect me of encourag- 
ing any advances from these gentlemen, or noticing 
them in any way ?” 

“No matter what I suspected, Rose, I find you are 
a true Ackland, and know how to keep such people 
at a proper distance. But tell me. Rose, did Major 
Melville act in the same way as the others ?” 

“ Not he, indeed, aunt ! — he never pretended to re- 
cognize me, although I could not help seeing that he 
knew me again at the first glance.” 

“ That is just what I would expect,” said Miss Ack- 
land in a low, tremulous tone ; “ to be a Melville he 
must be the soul of honor, and a gentleman in the 
truest sense. Let us go in, my dear, the night-dews 
are beginning to fall.” 

They were turning to go into the house by the 
front door, when a figure presented itself to their 
view at the corner of the esplanade from behind the 
drooping branches of a laburnum- tree. Rose clung 
closer to her aunt’s arm, with difficulty suppressing a 
scream, and Miss Ackland herself was somewhat 
alarmed. But alarm soon gave place to joy when a 
well-known voice said — 

“You do not know me, then? — ^have you already 
forgotten Giacomo ?” 


THE OLD irODSE BY THE BOYNE. 


201 


“ Giacomo ! Can it be possible 

It was, indeed, Giacomo, his very self ; there waa 
no mistaking the friendly grasp of his hand, the heart- 
warm tones of his voice, unheard for long, — and truly 
he had no reason to complain of his reception. Miss 
Ackland was rejoiced to see him, and frankly said 
so, and even Rose manifested more pleasure than 
could have been expected from her former demeanor 
towards him. At first no questions were asked, and 
they all three entered the house. Nancy was rather 
surprised on seeing what she took for a strange gen- 
tleman with the ladies, but, on recognizing her young 
favorite, the good old soul could scarcely find words 
to express her joy. 

Tea was long over, and Giacomo had had his, he 
said, but it was hard to persuade Nancy from going 
to work to get tea for him, “An’ sure a cup of tay 
would do him good, an’ he must take something, after 
bein’ so long away from them.” 

At last the faithful creature was got rid of, the can- 
dles were lit, and Giacomo ran his eye over the well- 
remembered room, as if to see that all was the same 
there as when he left it ; but all was not the same, and 
the young man’s eyes filled with tears as they rested 
on the old arm-chair still in its olden place, but vacant 
now. The ladies saw his emotion, and well under- 
stood its cause, but they were silent. 

“ How much you must miss him !” said Giacomo 
after a long pause. 

“ Yes, we miss liim, indeed !” Rose replied, — her 


202 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


aunt could not trust her voice to speak, “ every day, 
and every hour we miss him, and shall, I think, for 
years to come.” 

After another pause, Miss Ackland said — “ By-the- 
bye, Giacomo, when did you arrive ?” 

There was a slight confusion visible in the young 
man’s manner as he replied — “ Three days ago.” 

“ Three days !” said Miss Ackland reproachfully, 
“ three days in Drogheda without coming to see us ?” 

“ I came on business, and have been much occu- 
pied.” 

“ Yet,” cried Rose with the arch smile of other 
days, “ you found time to go to Baltray !” 

“ Oh ! that is true,” said Miss Ackland ; “ we saw 
your name in the sand near Mabel’s cottage, and have 
been ever since puzzling our wits imagining how it 
came there.” 

“ You flatter me. Miss Ackland,” he replied laugh- 
ing, “ I could not have hoped that the sight of my 
name should have attracted so much of your atten- 
tion.” 

“ Not of mine,” said Rose, saucy as ever, “ not of 
mine, I assure you. I for one take little heed of 
words written in the sand. But my aunt thought it 
strange to get the first token of your arrival on the 
beach at Baltray. A new way of leaving one’s card, 
that !” 

“ But who told you I was there at all ?” 

“Why, Mabel’s grandchildren told us — that is 
they told Aunt Lydia that ‘ a gentleman’ wrote that, 


THE OLD ROUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


203 


and it was very natural to conclude that no gentleman 
was so likely to write your name as yourself. Then 
Miss Brodigan told us you were in town, for that a 
friend of theirs had seen you.” 

“And did you believe her on her friend’s word ?” 

“ No, that she did not,” said Miss Ackland, an* 
swering for her niece ; “ she gave Miss Brodigan no 
small offence by refusing to believe it.” 

“ And why would you not believe it, Miss Rose ?” 
said Giacomo, evidently much pleased. 

“ I’ll answer that question,” Rose quickly replied, 
“ when you tell me. Signor, why you were three 
days in Drogheda without coming to see my aunt.” 

“ A fair proposal, Giacomo,” said Miss Ackland 
smiling, “ come, give an account of yourself.” 

“ Some other time I will— not now,” said Giacomo, 
“ but I was forgetting my sister’s letter. Miss Ack- 
land !” and he handed her the letter, which she 
glanced over with evident pleasure, then handled it to 
Rose. 

“ What a sweet girl your sister Maddalena must 
be,” observed Miss Ackland ; “ somehow I feel a long- 
ing desire to make her acquaintance — that is in per- 
son — for I fancy I know her now in heart and mind 
as well as I ever could know her. It seems to me 
that I should love her dearly.” 

“ Why, that is just what Maddalena says of you,” 
said Giacomo laughing ; “ Miss Rose she thinks she 
could like^ Miss Ackland she would love^ nay, loves 


even now. 


204 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


“What a remarkable coincidence !” said Rose in a 
tone so like that of worthy Mr. Brodigan that even 
her grave aunt could not refuse a smile. 

“ I was much amused yesterday evening,” said Gi- 
acomo, after a short and rather awkward silence, 
“ by a scene I witnessed at the Tholsel— I believe 
you call it — that gloomy town-hall of yours. I was 
passing by there about eight o’clock, when I saw the 
building lighted up, and some people going in, but 
what most attracted my attention was that funny old 
bellman of yours, walking in that lazy way that is pe- 
culiar to him, up and down in front of the building, 
neither faster nor slower, — slower he couldn’t well 
go — ringing his big bell and repeating these words — 
‘Walk in, gentlemen! walk in! Hell open, gentle- 
men ! — Hell open !’* Hearing such a singular invi- 
tation given to the public, I thought I would ‘ step 
in’ and see what was going on, noticing, as I did so, 
that those who went in were few, compared with 
those who laughed and passed on.” 

“Well! and what was it?” said Miss Ackland, ex- 
changing a glance of intelligence with Rose; she 
knew well enough, but she wished to hear Giacomo’s 
account of it. 

“ Why, it was a meeting of ‘ The Irish Church 
Missionary Society,’ as I afterwards saw by the pla- 
cards on the walls, but the whole business of the 
meeting seemed to be to abuse and vilify the Catholic 
religion. Such stories as I heard told there by grave 

* This really occurred in Drogheda. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


205 


looking men, well-dressed, and, you would think, sen- 
sible enough, concerning what they called ‘ Romish 
superstition,’ I never heard in all my life before. 
They were so childish, so ridiculous, and all about 
people without a name, and with no particular place 
of residence, that I could scarce keep from laughing 
to see how attentively they were listened to. Some 
of them were located in my country, at the village 
of A or B, and so forth, and always to some C or 
D, or some other letter of the alphabet. I only wish 
you could have heard them. Miss Ackland! for I 
know it would have given you much amusement. 
For my part, I might have been annoyed, only I 
w^ondered so much at the gravity with which the 
speakers spoke, and the audience listened, to such 
nonsensical rigmaroles that I forgot it was of my 
own religion such absurd stories were being told.” 

“ Oh ! that is nothing new to us here,” said Miss 
Ackland, “but we only laugh at those knaves or 
fanatics, whichever they may be. You see how the 
bellman was employed to turn them into ridicule. 
That is just how we treat them here in Drogheda. 
We have ‘ soupers’ here, as they are called (from 
their attempts to bribe the poor through their appe- 
tites), but they never succeed in making one pervert, 
unless it be some miserable wretch who is willing to 
barter his or her soul, like Esau, for a mess of pottage. 
The townspeople only laugh at the efforts of these 
Missionaries’ to make Protestants. I rather think 
they find our old borough too hot to hold them, at 


206 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


times, for the very boys on the streets plague them 
with questions about religion which they cannot 
answer. Have you none of these Protestant mission- 
aries in Italy ?” 

“ Yes, we have them in shoals ; they every year 
come to us in greater numbers ; they call themselves 
there ‘ evangelists’ and other such names.” 

“ Well ! and how do they succeed there in making 
perverts ?” 

“ They make no perverts, so to say, from the 
Church ; those whom they induce to join them out- 
wardly, are already deprived of faith, — on account 
of their bad morals, I suppose, — and, therefore, have 
none to lose. But even they are only few in numbers, 
as I have always understood.” 

The conversation then turned on matters of more 
immediate interest, and the evening passed so plea- 
santly, that all were surprised when the clock struck 
ten, soon after which Giacomo took his leave. 



CHAPTER XII. 


Whatever Giacomo’s business might have been in 
Drogheda, he seemed to have an abundance of time 
for all purposes of amusement and of social enjoy* 
ment. He said that his father had given him permis- 
sion to remain some weeks after his business arrange- 
ments were completed, in order to see some more of 
the country around Drogheda. It annoyed him more 
than a little when he found that Miss Ackland and 
Rose were necessarily confined to the schoolroom 
during the greater part of the day, so that he could 
not have their company in all his excursions. But 
Saturday was at their disposal, and he contrived to 
visit the most interesting scenes and localities on that 
day, when most of all he enjoyed their beauties, and 
learned the most of their historical and legendary 
lore. Jemmy Xulty was one of the first for whom 
he inquired, but Jemmy, he learned, had “ shuffled oflT 
his mortal coil,” and gone to rest till Doomsday in 
the little monastic graveyard by the side of the bro- 
ther he loved so well, his brother in faith, hope, and 
charity, no less than in blood. “ Happy pair !” said 
Giacomo, when Miss Ackland, with tearful eyes, spoke 
of the truly Christian brothers now reunited in tho 


‘208 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


calm sleep of death. “ Happy pair ! who would not 
envy such a death ? Poor Jemmy seemed to have 
a presentiment that we should meet no more on earth, 
for he asked me, if I ‘ missed him’ on returning to 
Drogheda, to remember him in my prayers. Kind 
old man ! indeed I shall not forget him ! he reminded 
me of nothing so much as the simple anchorets of 
other days, who lived in the desert with God and their 
own souls.” 

A shade of deeper thought passed over his face as 
he thus spoke, and when he raised his eyes again, he 
found Rose watching him with an earnestness of 
which she herself was hardly conscious, yet she 
blushed slightly, and turned away with some degree 
of embarrassment, laughing the while at Giacomo’s 
unwonted seriousness. 

“ Let Jemmy rest in peace,” said she, taking up her 
tapestry frame, “ which I have no doubt he does, the 
good old soul. You intend, of course, to go to Bel- 
ie wstown races. Signor ? — They come off next week.” 

“ I should certainly like to go,” was the reply, “ and 
I have invitations from the Brodigans, Tiernans and 

others, to go with them, but he stopped short 

and looked at Miss Ackland, “ I do not know whether 
I shall go or not.” 

“ But you shall go, my dear Giacomo,” said Mis.^ 
Ackland with a smile, rightly interpr 3ting his hesita* 
tion ; “if respect for the unforgotten dead will not per- 
mit all your Drogheda friends to be there, that is no 
reason why you should miss seeing what will be new 


THE OLD HOUSE BY TUB BOYNE, 


209 


to you, and is really in itself worth seeing, especially 
for a stranger. You must go to Belle wstown.” 

“ With whom would you wish me to go, if go I 
must ?” said Giacomo in a listless way. 

“ Oh ! the BroOigans, of course ; they would natu« 
rally feel hurt, being our most intimate friends, if you 
did not go with them. Harry Cusack, I suppose, will 
join their party.” 

“ I do not think so, Aunt Lydia,” said Rose, “ he 
told me he had promised to go with the people out 
Duleek Gate. It seems they have friends coming 
down from Dublin for the Races, and expect to have 
quite a large party there.” 

It was settled then and there, however, that Gia- 
como was to go with the Brodigans, and accordingly 
the young ladies of that family bad the triumph 
of parading the handsome stranger as one of their 
attendant cavaliers the first day of the Races. And 
truly it was a novel sight to our young Italian, and 
one that was characteristic of Drogheda, to whoso 
genial, free-hearted burghers those annual Races at 
Bellevvstown were (and we suppose are) a sort of 
carnival, during which all, or nearly all, business was 
suspended in the town, and all of its population who 
could manage to go, were, day after day, “ off to Bel- 
lewstown,” the rich riding or driving, the poor trudg- 
ing* on foot, — the distance is only a few miles — and 
all in the best possible humor for being happy them- 
selves and making others happy. At Belle wstown 
the generous hospitality of that proverbially hospit- 


210 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


able town seemed to reach its height. The Drogheda 
people made it a point to have as many of their 
friends from other places for that great occasion as 
they possibly could, and it was a stirring scene of harm- 
less mirth and jollity when hundreds of different parties 
were bivouacking a la pic-nic on the smooth green 
sward at some particular hour of the day when “ the 
horses were not running.” It was a scene to be remem- 
bered. What with the merry music of pipes and fid- 
dles from the tents, the countless multitude of happy, 
joyous faces, all intent on sport, the numerous groups 
scattered over the spacious green surrounding the 
Course, enjoying their creature comforts with laugh 
and jest, in which the passers-by often shared ; the 
rows of carriages of all kinds drawn up without the 
ropes which marked the limits of the Course, from 
the handsome and elegant barouche of the nobleman 
with its heraldric devices and liveried servants, to the 
plain gig and jaunting-car of the respectable shop- 
keeper, or the wealthy farmer, “the ladies” being 
generally stationed in the latter class to see the Races, 
whilst the very highest ascended the stand in the 
centre, where might be found almost any year, about 
the time we write of, the Lord Lieutenant of the 
day, all the eighteen miles of way from Dublin, and 
the heads of the Louth, Meath, and Dublin aris- 
tocracy, the stand-house itself being a gay sight to 
look upon, with its national and other flags and 
streamers dancing in the summer-breeze that swept 
across that high table-land from the Irish Sea on one 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 211 

Bide, and on the other the Bay of Dundalk, whose 
blue waters were visible in the distance, with the 
shapely forms of the Mourne Mountains rising vague 
and misty beyond it. It was a scene of life, and 
beauty, and animation, and our young Leghorner 
thought, as he cast his eyes over the rich plains of 
three level counties lying in beauty and freshness be- 
low on every side, then looked through the vistas 
opening between hills and mountains to the bolder 
outlines of the northern scenery, far away in the coun- 
ties of Cavan and Monaghan, that even his own sunny 
Italy presented, few scenes by nature fairer than that 
to which worthy Mr. Brodigan took care to call his 
attention. But it was only to Mr. Brodigan or his 
plain but intelligent wife that Giacomo listened with 
any degree of pleasure ; in vain did Miss Jane quote 
sentimental poetry, and compose fine sentences de- 
scriptive of the surrounding scenery ; in vain did Miss 
Brodigan unbend from her usual hauteur^ and conde- 
scend to hang on his arm, when they all took a turn 
round the green during the intervals of the races ; 
his thoughts were in the old house by the Boyne, and 
the schoolroom where two bright kindred spirits 
were shut up at their wearisome, monotonous task — 
“ Pent in the weary schoolroom during summer.” 

There he would rather be, he sadly thought, than 
■where he was on the breezy plain with the beauty of 
earth, and sea, and sky before him, and a world of 
life and gay festivity around him. 

If they were only here,” he thought, “ or I with 


212 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


them — oh! that we might live together always— al- 
ways — then life would be life indeed T’ He thought 
of Maddalena, then of his father, and the glow faded 
from his cheek. 

It was after sundown when Giacomo and his party 
reached the city, and politely declining Mrs. Brodi- 
gan’s pressing invitation to go home with them and 
spend the evening, he hastened at once to the old 
house on the hill, where he found the aunt and niece 
seated on the esplanade enjoying the rare beauty of 
the evening. They seemed surprised to see him, and 
Rose said, as her aunt made place for him on the rus- 
tic bench beside her — 

“ Why, Signor, I had no idea that we should see 
you this evening. I thought you would have gone 
home with the Brodigans.” 

“No, I was kindly invited to do so, but after the 
bustle and excitement of the day, I longed for quiet, 
so I came where I was sure to find it.” 

Miss Ackland smiled gratefully, she knew that he 
came to them because he feared that being all alone, 
they must feel lonely at such a time. Rose exclaimed 
with her usual animation, — but a trifle more eagerly 
than usual — 

“ So, then, you didn’t like Bellewstown — you didn’t 
enjoy the Races, or anything, as we hoped you would 

Giacomo fixed a meaning glance on her as he re- 
plied — “ On the contrary. Miss Rose, I did like Bel- 
lewstowH, very, very much, and I did enjoy the Races, 
and all the rest, but shall I confess that the excite- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYXE. 


213 


ment and general bustle was too much for me, and 
that I was really glad to return into town ?” 

“ But you will, of course, go back to-morrow ?” 

“ N’o, I have had quite enough of it, Miss Ackland 1 
I saw to-day all I desire to see of Bellewstown and 
the Races. Only let me accompany you and Miss 
Rose in your walk to-morrow evening, and I shall 
enjoy it more in one little hour than an hundred such 
days as this.” 

“ My dear Giacomo, you are very kind to say so ; 
if that be the case, come and take tea with us to-mor- 
row, an early tea, at six o’clock, and we shall take 
you to our favorite walk up the Rathmullen Road.” 

“ The Rathmullen Road ! oh ! I remember Miss 
Rose speaking of it once before — that is to say last 
winter when I was here. I shall be much pleased to 
see it.” 

We have not been there for some time,” said 
Rose, addressing her aunt, “ I shall be glad to see the 
dear old place myself ; especially as we can stay 
longer and later, having an escort with us,” she added 
smiling. 

“ Are escorts then necessary here ?” said Giacomo, 
observing that she laid a certain emphasis on the 
word. “ I should think in a quiet old town like this, 
ladies might walk abroad at all hours of the day, 
or even of the early night.” 

“ So it would be,” replied Miss Ackland, “ were we 
left to our own population, but you forget, Giacomo, 
that this is a garrison town,” she said pointedly. 


214 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

** Oh ! then it is the military who make it unsafe 
said Giacomo, and he looked at Rose who was bend- 
ing in silence over a volume of engravings, her color 
higher than usual, it appeared to him. “Your gen- 
tlemen of the army, then, are not the preux chevaliers 
they ought to be ?” 

“ Yes,” said Rose, perhaps, in the spirit of con- 
tradiction, “ there are some of them here — one espe- 
cially — who looks as though he might be a veritable 
Bayard or Du Guesclin, and whom I have never seen 
act indecorously !” 

Giacomo looked surprised, and so did Miss Ack- 
land ; the latter, however, tried to pass it off as a jest, 
and said with her sweet, sad smile — 

“ Oh ! you mean Major Melville, Rose ! — I see you 
praise him^ by force of contrast. And I believe you 
are right; compared with those younger brother-offi- 
cers of his, he does appear very much of a gentleman.” 

Giacomo looked from one to the other, wondermg 
what it all meant ; at last he said — 

“ Miss Rose appears to have seen a good deal of 
these military gentlemen of late.” 

“ There you are mistaken. Signor,” said Rose 
quickly ; “ I have never been introduced to one of 
them, and have only met them on the road or the 
Btreet.” 

“It is not so said here in Drogheda,” Giacomo re- 
plied in a tone of forced composure. “ I was told the 
very day after my arrival that some of them were 
your particular admirers.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


2U» 


Ho looked so grave that Rose could not help 
jAughing. “ And do you suppose, Signor, that any 
young lady hereabouts would consider that a misfor- 
tune ?” 

‘‘Not if the admirer were such as you describe 
your Major Melville,”^ he replied still more seriously. 

“ My Major Melville,” cried Rose with her merriest 
laugh ; “ he certainly is not my Major Melville, and it 
is more than probable that he is somebody else’a 
Major Melville long before now. Do pray. Aunt 
Lydia ! tell this puzzled Signor how we came to meet 
the gentleman in question !” 

Miss Ackland, pleased to see the turn Rose had 
given the conversation, willingly complied, and re- 
lated the adventure with the officers on the Rath- 
mullen Road, with the exception of the episode 
between Major Melville and herself. When she had 
finished Giacomo drew a long breath, like one who 
felt relieved : 

“ So this was the beginning of the affair ; and the 
sequel was — those annoyances to which Miss Rose 
has been subjected by these gentlemen^' with a bitter 
emphasis on the last word. 

“ Annoyances !” Rose repeated with some surprise j 
“ what annoyances do you mean ?” 

“ Those of which I heard you complain to your 
aunt the first evening I saw you after my return.” 

“ So you heard her ?” said Miss Ackland. 

“ Yes, I did; I was just crossing the esplanade to 
the front door, when, hearing your voices in the gar- 


216 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


den, I thought I would take you by surprise, and 
having ascertained what part of the garden you were 
in, I went round by the shady walk at the further 
end, and met you as you know.” 

Miss Ackland and Rose both thought of the rust- 
ling amongst the branches, but they merely exchanged 
looks, and Giacomo went on: “You will not, I hope, 
think the worse of me, ladies, when I tell you that I 
purposely waited to hear the conclusion of Miss 
Rose’s explanation.” 

“ And I hope you found it satisfactory. Signor ?” 
said Rose with ironical gravity. 

“ Perfectly so,” he said with a look that brought 
the eloquent blood to her cheek. Yet she laughed 
lightly and carelessly. 

“How satisfactory! Well! really. Signor, you do 
talk strangely at times ! — do you know, Aunt Lydia, 
I sometimes think that that bump his head got 
against the rocks at Clogher may have seriously af- 
fected his brain. Are you subject to headaches. 
Signor ?” 

“ Ho,” said Giacomo laughing, and as Miss Ack- 
land turned away with a gentle “ For shame. Rose I 
what a silly girl you are !” he added in a low whisper, 
“ but I am to heart-aches — can you account for them 

“ You give me credit for more skill than I possess. 
Signor !— what should I know of heart-aches or their 
cause?” Was it the red cloud which the sun had 
left at his setting “to preside o’er the scene” that 
crimsoned her cheek just then ? 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


217 


“ Did you ever see a lovelier evening ?'’ said Miss 
Ackland, returning from the western end of the es- 
planade, where she had stood a moment regarding 
with that ardent love of the beautiful, which was one 
of her strongest characteristics, the sunset glow that 
lit up the lovely scene around. “ How one’s heart 
expands at such a moment, and one’s spirit casts off 
its weary load in the last fair hour of day !” Them 
she murmured low, as she threw herself wearily on 
the bench beside Giacomo — 

‘ The twilight hour ! the twilight hour f which poets vie to praise, 
And it is now a weariness so loved in other days.” 

He who watched her read her heart, for he loved 
her as a dear elder sister ; he took her hand, and said 
with a tenderness of sympathy that brought tears to 
her eyes — 

“ You have known many sorrows, my friend, my 
benefactress ! would that I could do anything to ef- 
face their remembrance !” 

Miss Ackland turned and laid her hand on his 
shoulder, and her voice was tremulous with emotion 
as she replied — “ Giacomo, my dear young friend 1 
I would not forget my sorrows if I could, but believe 
me, your sympathy consoles me. It reminds me of 
one whose voice I shall never hear again on earth.” 

“ Then there was one whom you regarded with 
frvor?” 

“ Yes, Giacomo, I will not conceal it from you 
towards whom I feel as a mother to a very dear child 
— yes 


218 


THE OLD HOUSE LY THE BOYNE. 


* There was one who once with me so woo’d this quiet hour, 

As young hearts tired of revelry woo slumber’s gentle power’— 

one who loved me, and whom I loved — oh how well 
— how truly.” 

“ I knew it,” he said with a strange earnestness, “ 1 
knew you had loved and been beloved. How could 
it be otherwise ?” 

There was dead silence for a while ; the spell of the 
hour and the scene had fallen on all ; the moon was 
rising slowly above the horizon, and her light still 
veiled and subdued shed a solemn glory over the pic- 
ture of sea and land and town and river that lay 
spread like a map below ; the sounds of busy life had 
died, it would seem, with the departing day, and only 
the watch-dog’s bark broke on the ear, or at long in- 
tervals the shrill whistle of some passer-by on the 
road beneath, or the creaking voice of the corn-crake 
in the meadows behind the town. Silence was on 
the land and the water, and as the shadows of 
twilight gradually gave place to the beams of the 
rising orb of night the scene was beautiful beyond 
expression. 

“ Does your Tuscan Val d’Amo much exceed 
that ?” said Rose at length, as if anxious to break a 
silence which she, at least, felt oppressive; could 
you by any stretch of imagination suppose our Boyne 
to be the Arno ?” 

“ As regards the river itself I might easily get up 
the illusion, for your Boyne is as bright, its banks, in 
many places, at least, to the full as picturesque, and I 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 219 

believe it is to your history and tradition very much 
what the Arno is to us Tuscans, but ” 

“ Oh ! of course, there’s a hut — what is it. Signor ?” 

“ Why,” said Giacomo, laughing, “ it would require 
a greater stretch of imagination than I could boast, to 
transform yonder old town into Florence, the fair 
queen of the Arno. Truly she is Fiorenza il bella — 
Florence the Beautiful !” 

“I should like to see Florence, and Rome, and 
Venice,” said Rose half abstractedly, as she watched 
the broad yellow disk of the lady-moon rising over 
the shining sea. 

Why not Leghorn?” said Giacomo ; “it is a fair 
city, too, looking out from orange groves and myrtle 
bowers on the broad bosom of the Mediterranean.” 

“ Oh 1 Leghorn ! who cares about Leghorn ?” said 
Rose, falling back on her old ways. 

“ I do, for one,” said the young man reproachfully. 
“ If it be not equal to other Italian cities in beauty, in 
splendor, or in old and high renown, it is my city, and 
I love it best of all.” 

“ Forgive me. Signor !” said Rose very gently ; “ I 
did not mean to speak disrespectfully of your native 
city — I only meant to say that it has not the same 
hold on the imagination as any of the other cities I 
mentioned. You yourself must admit that.” 

“ Some day,” he replied in alow tone, “I will hope 
to convince you that the city of Pietro di Medici is 
not altogether unworthy of its founder. But hc'’<j 


220 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOVNK. 


comes Nancy,” he said, seeing the old woman pro- 
truding her head from the doorway. 

“Do you want me, Nancy ?” said Miss Ackland 
standing up. 

“It’s one from Baltray that’s within. Miss Ack 
land, an’ wants to see you very had.” 

With a slight apology to Giacomo, Miss Ackland 
entered the house, but Nancy seemed inclined to lin- 
ger, and on a kind invitation from Rose to come out 
and talk to Signor Giacomo, squatted herself on the 
ground beside the bench where he sat. 

“ You are keeping your health well, Nancy !” said 
the young gentleman with that easy condescension 
that marks the really well-bred in their intercourse 
with their inferiors. 

“Well then, I am, sir, thank God, an’ you for the 
askin’ ; but you don’t know how lonesome I am for 
the ould master, God rest his soul !” 

“ I can well believe that, Nancy ! — but now I think 
of it, I forgot to ask after your old friend Tab : I 
have not seen her since I came.” 

“ Ah ! poor thing, she’s dead, too,” said the old wo- 
man with a melancholy shake of the head, her chin 
resting on her hand, her elbow on her knee. 

“ Dead, is she ?” 

“Aye, indeed, and do you know, Mr. Jacomy ! (so 
she always called him), I miss her more than I ever 
thought I’d miss one of her kind.” 

“What ! and she an enchanted Dane ?” 

“ Och I the sorra Dane or Dane she was, the poor 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


i21 


harmless crature, an’ many's the time 1 was sorry 
since she died for the grudge I had again her.” 

“ There’s a touch of human nature,” said Rose in 
an under tone, “ death, you see, like charity, covers 
a multitude of sins, and sometimes sheds a halo roimd 
those who in life we did not value as we ought.” 

“ So that if even I were dead, who knows but some 
one might encircle my memory with the halo you 
speak of ” 

Here Haney started to her feet and hastened into 
the house, having, as she said, heard Miss Ackland 
call her. 

“ Do you think any one would miss me if I were 
gone ?” persisted Giacomo, bending forward to look 
in the face of his companion. 

“ Why, how can I tell ?” said Rose in her laughing 
way ; “ I suppose, though, you would have no worse 
chance than our old Tab. You see she is not for- 
gotten.” 

“ You are really quite oomplimentary. Miss Rose !— 
Well ! I know one who would be remembered and 
would never be forgotten while one heart throbbed 
with life.” 

Rose Ackland smiled, and a softened expression 
stole over the brightness of her face ; but it passed 
way in an instant, and she said in a sort of musing 
way — “And I know one, or at least, I knew of one 
who though many, many years dead, is still as fondly 
beloved, as well remembered as though he died but 
yesterday.’* 


222 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Giacomo was silent for a moment ; then he asked 
somewhat abruptly, Rose thought — “ But is he dead, 
then, of whom you speak ?” 

‘‘ Why, of whom do you think I am speaking ? I 
did not tell you, did I ?” 

“ Ro, but somehow it seemed to me as though I 
knew.” 

Rose turned and fixed her eyes on him with a 
startled look ; he smiled and went on — “ That is, I 
thought I might have known, but since you say the 
person so long and tenderly remembered is dead^ that 
changes the whole affair. I find I was mistaken — • 
that is to say, that my imagination was running away 
with my reason. But it is halfpast nine o’clock,” 
looking at his watch, “ and I must away to my solit- 
ary room in West street.” 

“ But tell me before you go. Signor, why it was 
that you did not come into Mabel’s cottage that day, 
but left, instead, your name on the strand ? Were 
you there, or were you not ?” 

“ I was there ; I had gone down to see Mabel, for 
I really feel interested in that old woman, but when 
I got there I changed my mind ” 

“ You heard we were there — was that the reason ?'* 

“ It was.” 

“You are very candid. Signor Giacomo, — more 
candid than polite, I think.” 

“ You asked me a plain question ; truth obliged me 
to give a plain answer.” 

“ But why write your name on the sand ?” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


223 


“ To let you know I had been there, and was gone.’* 

“Well, really, you grow worse and worse.’* 

“ Sincerity is a virtue, you know, Signoia !” 

“ Tell me, then, in your sincerity, why you wished 
bo avoid us.” 

“ Your aunt I never wished to avoid, it was you. 
Miss Rose, and for the same reason that would have 
prevented me from visiting your house — at least from 
seeing you — had I not chanced to overhear what 
passed between your aunt and you that evening in 
the garden. I had heard of you immediately on my 
arrival what grieved and mortified me beyond ex- 
pression.” 

Rose stood up, her cheek burning, and an angry 
light in her dark eyes : 

“ And did you suppose. Signor, that your absent- 
ing yourself from our house would punish me for 
my supposed folly and indiscretion ? — If you did, you 
have more vanity than I would have suspected.’ 

“Miss Rose Ackland,” said Giacomo, ulso rising, 
the warm southern blood rushing from his heart to 
his face, “ I am not so vain as to imagine anything 
idea, be assured there is little danger of my now lapsing 
so preposterous, but if I ever had entertained such an 
into such folly. Were I disposed to enter into ex- 
planations, you might see my conduct in a diflferent 
light ; but I am not, and so let the matter rest. I 
will merely say ‘ good night’ to your aunt, then rid 
you of my company — for the present. May I have 
the honor ? ’ and he offered her his arm with cool po- 


224 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE.' 


liteness. Rose did not choose to notice the motion, 
and they walked in together, ^hey found Miss Ack- 
land preparing to go down to Baltray, having learned 
that Mabel was unusually ill, and wished to see her. 
Giacomo at once offered to accompany her, and his 
offer being gladly accepted, they immediately set out 
for Baltray. It was a pleasant walk they had by the 
Boyne side in the clear moonlight, Giacomo talking 
the while of his father and Maddalena, till Miss Ack- 
land imagined she could see both one and the other 
of those who, for his sake, she already loved, she 
said. 

“ My sister cherishes the same feelings towards you, 
my kind dear friend,” said the warm-hearted young 
Italian ; “ she desires, more than almost anything else, 
to see you, and thank you in person for your more 
than kindness to her only brother.” 

“And your father?” questioned Miss Ackland, half 
unconscious that she was betraying the surprise she 
felt at hearing so little of his gratitude. 

“ Oh ! my father,” replied the youth, with some 
degree of embarrassment — “my father is never de- 
monstrative ; he seldom talks of his feelings. But I 
am sure he appreciates your goodness to me, stranger 
as I then was to you.” 

“My dear Giacomo,” said Miss Ackland, “you 
overrate the trifling service I had in my power to 
render to you, so, I believe, does your sweet sister, 
but it cannot be expected that your father should 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


225 


feel as fervently as you do. Why, here we are al 
Baltray ; truly, we have 

‘ With talk of various kinds beguiled the way,’ — 
it is long since I found the road so short.’^ 

They entered the cottage ; Mabel was not so ill as 
her son’s affectionate fears had represented, for it was 
he who had gone to let Miss Ackland know the 
change that had taken place. She was already reco- 
vering from the death-like swoon that had so alarmed 
her relatives, and Miss Ackland had the satisfaction 
of seeing her restored to consciousness, and likely to 
improve before she left the cottage. 

“Ill not die yit awhile. Miss Lyddy!” were the 
old woman’s parting words; “111 live, plaze God, to 
see something turn up for you, astlwre 

With a kind but incredulous smile Miss Ackland 
left her faithful follower. 



CHAPTER XIII. 


Contrary to Rose’s expectation, Giacomo came 
next evening punctual to his appointment, with no 
perceptible difference in his manner, yet she could 
see that he addressed more of his conversation than 
usual to her aunt, and less to herself, and was, more- 
over, a little more ceremonious than usual when he 
did speak to her. Haney’s best skill had been put 
forth “ to have something nice for tea,” on that par- 
ticular evening, and the meal was a pleasant one, 
in that cheerful little room with the slanting sunbeams 
from the window resting on the table and its equi- 
page, the quaint old garde-vin that stood in the far- 
ther corner, and the high mantel-piece with its old- 
fashioned china ornaments, surmounted by a fine en- 
graving in a heavy gilt frame of Leonardo di Vinci’s 
famous Last Supper. Apropos to the engraving, Gia- 
como told the story of the discovery, by mere acci- 
dent, of that noble painting originally frescoed on 
the walls of the refectory in an Italian convent where 
it had been for ages concealed by a coat of cement 
laid over it by the good monks to protect it from 
some expected foreign invasion ; its very existence 
was forgotten, — at least its whereabouts, for the 
painting of such a work by so great a master as Di 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 227 

Vinci was, of course, on record, in the traditional his- 
tory of art. 

“I was SO fortunate since my return to Italy,” 
said he, “ as to be able to visit the native place of 
the divine Raftaelo, away amongst the purple hills 
of Umbria, just the place to inspire a poet-painter ; 
I visited Rome at the same time, and by the way, 
Miss Ackland, what discovery do you think I made 
while there?” 

“ I am sure I caanot tell ; I know so little of the 
Eternal City, except from the descriptions of ordi- 
nary travellers,* and they, I know, are not always, in- 
deed, scarcely ever, reliable.” 

“ Well ! apart from things of greater interest and 
importance, I have traced the origin of your old Christ- 
mas waits to Rome.” 

“ Is it possible ?” 

“ Yes, I then heard for the first time of a band of 
peasants who descend from their mountains every 
year about the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, 
to usher in the joyous Christmas time, and to delight 
the Romans with their sweet and simple lays, chiefly 
in honor of the Blessed Virgin. I have heard it said 
many times during my short stay in- Rome that their 
music is of the sweetest, and gives greater pleasure 

*It will be remembered that all our best Catholic works 
on modern Rome, both in French and English, and even ia 
Italian, have appeared since the date of this story. Amongst 
the English we may reckon Maguire’s “ Rome and its Ruler,” 
and Nelligan’s “ Rome and its Institutions.” 


228 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


to those who hear it than the most artistic perform- 
ances. Their instruments are few and simple, such as 
shepherds’ pipes, and the like, but it is the very simpli- 
city of the music that constitutes its greatest charm ; 
that and the devotion to the Madonna which, ani- 
mating the hearts of those pious mountaineers, gives 
touching expression to their rustic lays.” 

“ But our waits do not sing hymns to the Blessed 
Virgin,” said Bose ; “ they don’t sing anything, you 
know, — but the airs they play, even, are not of a re- 
ligious character.” 

“ I know that from my own experience. Miss Rose, 
but, nevertheless, it is easy to see that the custom was 
at first a religious one, and I assure you I was agree- 
ably surprised to find something so very much like 
it existing in Rome.” 

“ I wonder could you find in Rome,” said Rose 
with her characteristic archness, “ anything like our 
Shrovetide mummers ?” 

“ What do they do ?” 

“ Why, they dress up in the most ridiculous and 
fantastic costumes, for the most part representing 
municipal dignitaries, with the Lord Mayor at the 
head of the procession, mounted on an ass, a string 
of potatoes hanging from his neck by way of gold 
chain, and in his hand a long pole with a bladder on 
the top, which his lordship amuses himself by dab- 
bling in the mud from time to time, and shaking it 
over the heads of the passers-by, to the great delight 
of the noisy ragamuffins who form his guard of honor 


THE OLD HOUSE DY THE BOYNE. 


229 


WO be to the showily or pretentiously dressed female 
who is unlucky enough to meet the mummers, her 
fine dress is sure to be none the better for it, for hia 
worship, the chief mummer, is sure to direct his at- 
tentions towards her. Then his lordship rides into 
shops, hotel-halls, and such like, to collect his tribute, 
and ill they fare who refuse to pay it.” 

“ Why, that is plainly from us, too,” said Giacomo ; 
“ those are precisely the sports of our Italian Carni- 
val. The difference is that we have innumerable 
others, whereas you here seem to retain but that one 
of our Shrovetide sports.” 

“ You can find no religious origin for that, can 
you ?” more archly than before. 

“Well ! of course not, but still it is an old Catholic 
custom, indicating the approach of the penitential 
season, when all public amusements are suspended.” 

“ That is so true,” said Miss Ackland, “ that I be- 
lieve it is only in one or two other towns or cities of 
Ireland that the custom is still observed ; these, of 
course, are the most thoroughly Catholic — in all the 
other localities the Shrovetide mummeries have long 
since fallen into disuse, and been forgotten. But I 
see you have finished your tea, Giacomo, had we not 
better set out at once, the sun will soon go down ?” 

“ The very thing I was wishing for. Miss Ackland ! 
we shall lose the finest of the evening, if we delay 
much longer.” 

Some twenty minutes’ walk brought them to the 
romantic heights of RathmuUen, with the road cross- 


230 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


ing the top of the hold bluff, winding away around 
the hill-side, disappearing ever from the view under 
the dense shade of overarching beeches, elms, and 
sycamores ; the sun streamed down all goldenly 
through the tangled branches, forming a net-work of 
yellow light on the well-paved road beneath, with its 
grass-fringed sidewalks, and its hawthorn hedges, all 
blooming then in their summer garb of white, and 
filling the air with their delicious fragrance. The sun 
was setting in the crimson west far over the sea, and 
the waters far and near, the sea and the river, were 
tinged with the same roseate hue. 

Never did Ariel’s plume, 

At golden sunset hover, 

O’er scenes of richer bloom 

than those which lay beneath that evening sky from 
the storied heights of Oldbridge, and its graceful 
commemorative Obelisk, to the Boyne’s mouth at Bet- 
tystown, with the ancient and picturesque town be- 
tween, girt round, as it were, with mouldering relics 
of the past. 

“And this,” said Giacomo, “is the Rathmullen 
Road,” as he turned to take a parting glance at the 
near surroundings and the far prospects. “ What a 
lovely spot it is, this green quiet nook, so high above 
the river, and commanding such a view ! Truly ex- 
istence might glide smoothly away amid such scenes 
as these. How my father would appreciate this !— 
But,” he added musingly, “ it is more than probable 
that he has seen it.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


231 


“ Has your father, then, been in Drogheda ?” asked 
Miss Ackland, stooping to pick up something from 
the grass at her feet. 

“ What have you got there, aunt said Rose in her 
girlish way. 

“ A four-leaved shamrock, my dear !” 

“ Oh ! give it to me, give it to me,” cried Rose 
clapping her hands. 

“ Ray,” said Miss Ackland, in a jesting way, “ I 
cannot afford to give away my luck. If I did, you 
know I might forfeit the favor of some benignant 
fairy.” 

Giacomo looked puzzled, whereupon Miss Ackland 
explained to him the popular superstition concerning 
the four-leaved shamrock, promising that she or Rose 
would sing for him, perhaps, that evening. Lover’s 
beautiful ballad of that name, one of the songs of the 
superstitions of Ireland — 

“ I’ll seek a four-leaved Shamrock. 

In every fairy dell,” 

hummed Rose, catching the word, and she would 
probably have continued the song, being bent, it 
would seem, on showing just then the greatest amount 
of careless ease, but all at once, she stopped short, 
and said — 

“ Oh aunt ! do look ! why, there is Major Melville !” 

And so it was the Major himself and alone, walk- 
ing slowly with his hands behind his back, and his 
eyes fixed on the ground like one whose thoughts 
were of engrossing interest. 


232 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


He started on seein" the party, and contrary to 
Miss Ackland’s expectation, raised his cap as they 
passed. Ilis eye rested for a moment on Miss Ack- 
land with a sort of keen scrutiny, then turned to the 
young man on whose arm she leaned, and the one 
who watched him understandingly either saw, or 
thought she saw a strange intensity in that moment- 
ary glance, as though he would fain have looked 
longer. Giacomo had caught the glance, and he said 
when the officer was out of hearing — 

“ And that is Major Melville ; I wonder why he 
looks so earnestly at me.” Then he thought of Rose, 
and her admiration of the Major, which, from all he 
had heard, might well he mutual. 

“ Because he sees you are a foreigner,” suggested 
Miss Ackland, giving the only probable reason she 
could think of. Rose smiled but she said nothing ; 
whatever her thoughts were she kept them to herself. 

Miss Ackland’s reason seemed to satisfy Giacomo 
in a matter of so little importance, and he dismissed, 
or appeared to dismiss, the matter from his mind. 
Having accompanied the ladies home he bade them 
good-bye at the door, declining Miss Ackland’s invi- 
tation to go in. 

“ I am leaving town early to-morrow,” said he, 
and I shall not see you for some days.” 

“ May I ask where you are going to ?” said Miss 
Ackland. 

“Certainly; I have been often asked by Mr. Cal 
linan to go with him the next time he visits his her- 


TIIR OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


233 


ring-fishery on the coast of Scotland, and as he goes 
to-morrow I think of going with him; not that I ex- 
pect much from the excursion, but, as I have never 
seen any part of Scotland, I may as well take this op- 
portunity of having a glimpse of it.” 

“ And I know you will be pleased that you went,” 
said Miss Ackland ; “ those fisheries are on the Locha- 
ber coast in the w ildest region of the Highlands. I 
know Mr. Callinan usually starts early when he goes, 
so I shall not insist on your remaining this evening, — 
expecting, however, to see you very soon after your 
return.” 

He promised with all good will, and then com- 
menced his descent of the long flight of steps with 
the lightness and agility of youth ; the ladies watched 
him in silence till he turned at the gate below and 
waved a smiling farew'ell, then disappeared behind 
the high wall th.at skirted the road. 

“ Aunt,” said Rose, in a way half jest, half earnest, 
as they walked to and fro on the esplanade in the 
darkening twilight, while the stars came peeping 
through the blue in the depths above, “ Aunt, did you 
observe what a thoughtful anxious look Major Mel- 
ville had that time when we met him, and how sharply 
he looked at you and Giacomo ?” 

“ If I didn’t observe it,” said Miss Ackland smil- 
ing, “ I see you did, ma chere petite Rose /” 

“And he saluted you very graciously! I could 
scarce believe my eyes after what you told me of hig 
manner of speaking to you at your last meeting.” 


234 THE OLD nODSE BY THE BOYNE. 

“ At our only meeting ; I had never seen Guy — I 
mean Major Melville — before that evening.” 

“It was all along of the four-leaved shamrock, 
aunt,” said Rose with her arch smile. “ Who knows 
what form your lack may take ? Heigho ! I wish L 
could find a four-leaved shamrock, or some other to- 
ken of good luck!” And she sighed with such a 
comical look of doleful despondency that her aunt 
could not help laughing. 

“ Never mind, my dear, we shall, at worst, find 
‘ luck’ for you at Painstown with worthy Mr. Led- 
wich, or nearer home with our friend Harry Cu- 
sack.” 

“Yes, by way of dernier ressort — many thanks. 
Aunt Lydia, but I could not think of depriving you 
of either of two such constant swains who, to my 
knowledge, have been bowing full fifteen years before 
your ladyship, like young Edwin in Goldsmith’s bal- 
lad, though, like him, they ‘ never talk of love.’ ” 

“ Fie, fie. Rose ! you cannot, I am sure, longer mis- 
take the nature or the object of Cusack’s attentions. 
Harry has little taste for ancient maidens of such very 
mature years as mine. Come, let us go in, — it wears 
late, and the dew is falling.” 

A week or so had passed before Giacomo again 
made his appearance, and then he was so full of what 
he had seen and heard that for some days he could 
speak of nothing but the wild grandeur of the scenes 
amid which he had been sojourning, so different from 
anything he had ever seen before. He would have 


THE O^iD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 235 

come all the way from Leghorn, he said, and farther 
still, to stand on one of those steep hill-sides, “ Among 
the pighland heather,” to inhale those mountain- 
breezes, and look forth over the waste of waters from 
the dizzy height where the eagle sheltered her young 
far up in the voiceless solitude. He had lodged with 
his friend in the cottage of one of the fishermen, and 
had heard with delight, by the evening fire, the wild 
superstitions of those Scottish Gael, there of a wilder 
character still, from the sea-faring habits of the peo- 
ple. Marvellous tales of second-sight had he heard, 
and ghost stories that made the blood curdle in one’s 
veins, and of shapes that fashioned themselves from 
the gray mountain-mists to warn those simple chil- 
dren of the Gael of impending death or doom ; of 
maidens white and fair, but with neither flesh, nor 
blood, nor bone, who appeared at the prow of the 
lonely corrie, to apprise the fisherman of danger at 
hand. Then there were legends of faithful love, and 
dark revenge, and wild adventure, and all the many 
forms that romance is likely to assume amongst sea- 
coast mountaineers. 

“ And then the ‘bonnie Jeans’ of Highland song,” 
said Rose with her characteristic smile ; “ who has not 
heard of Lochaber in connection with a certain rustic 
fair one, the beloved of some ‘ Highland laddie’ who 
went like that other famed in Scottish song ‘ to fight 
the French’ or some other foreign foe, ‘for King 
George upon his throne ?’ ” 

I, for one, never heard of either,” said Giacomo. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ What ! you have never heard either ‘ Farewell to 
Lochaber,’ or ‘ The Blue Bells of Scotland ?’ ” 

Giacomo shook his head. 

“Then you have heard little of Scottish minstrelsy, 
my aunt will tell you about the best of its kind in 
Europe. But if I had known you had never heard 
‘ LochabeF you should have gone there with that 
sweetest and most touching of airs echoing in your 
heart, and mingling with the breezes that sweep those 
heathery hills.” 

“ Is it so very beautiful, then ?” 

“Yes, and even more so; you should hear my aunt 
sing it — then you can judge of the spirit that breathes 
in it. Aunt Lydia, won’t you sing ‘Lochaber’ for 
Signor Giacomo ?” 

“ Not now. Rose, not now — some other time,” said 
her aunt hastily; then she went on with the same 
rapid utterance, as if to get through with the sub- 
ject as soon as might be — “ the air is a very sweet 
one, touching some of the tenderest chords of the 
heart, but you must not call it a Scotch air.” 

“ No ; and why not. Aunt Lydia ?” 

“ Because, it is one of those airs the origin of 
which we Irish dispute with the Scotch. Moore was 
so certain of its being Irish that he has introduced it 
amongst his Irish Melodies, with one of his most 
beautiful Bongs-^‘ When cold in the earth lies the 
friend thou hast loved^ ” 

“ Oh ! I know that well,” said Giacomo, “ I have 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


237 


heard my father sing it many a time, at least snatches 
of it ; I remember these words particularly — 

‘From thee and thy innocent beauty first came, 

The revealings that taught him true love to adcre — 

To feel thy bright presence and turn him with shame, 
From the idols he blindly had knelt to before.’ 

So that air is the Rame as the ‘ Lochaber’ of which 
Miss Kose speaks?” 

“ The very same. Moore says of it, in one of the 
notes to his Melodies, that the old Irish name of it 
was ‘ The Lamentation of Aughrim.’ ” 

“But, Aunt Lydia, how does he account for its 
being so long and well known in the Highlands as an 
old Scottish air ?” 

“ Simply by the fact that it was introduced into 
the Highlands by Lawrence O’Connellan, an Irish 
harper, brother of the composer. It may^ after all, 
be considered an old Scottish air, for it has been 
common amongst the Scottish Gael for over two 
hundred years.” 

“ So it was composed by O'Connellan ?” said Rose 
musingly ; she was but half familiar with the name. 

“ You seem to have forgotten, Rose,” said Miss 
Ackland, “ what quite took your fancy at the time, 
those fine verses we once read together on ‘ O’Con- 
nellau’s Harp,’ beginning — 

‘ Harp so lov’d in days of old. 

Unhonor d now. 

The hand that swept thy strings is cold, 

And tuneless now.’ ” 


238 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

“ Oh ! yes, I remember now,” said Rose, in her 
eager, girlish way ; “ how could I forget the name, 
and the resting-place of the bard ?” And she repeated 
one whole stanza of the poem — 

“ By Lough Gur’s waters, lone, and low, 

The minstrel’s laid, — 

Where mould’ring cloisters dimly throw 
Sepulchral shade ; — 

Where clust’ring ivy darkly weeps 
Upon his bed. 

To blot the legend where he sleeps, 

The tuneful dead !” 

“And you also remember those fine verses trans 
lated from the Irish — I think by Ferguson — apostro 
phizing the minstrel, and commencing thus— 

‘ Enchanter who reignest 
Supreme o’er the North, 

Who hast wiled the coy spirit 
Of true music forth ; 

In vain Europe’s minstrels 
. To honor aspire, 

When thy swift slender fingers 
Go forth on the lyre.* 

How beautiful are the last lines : 

‘^Who hear thee they praise thee ; 

They weep while they praise ; 

For, charmer, from Fairyland, 

Fresh are thy lays !’ ” 

“ Beautiful, indeed,” said Giacomo ; “ I should like 
to have heard some of those old Irish harpers — Car- 
olan, of whom I have so often heard you speak. Miss 
Ackland, — or that O’Neil, of whom your poor father 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


239 


told us so much one evening, sitting in this very 
room.” 

“ And less than a year ago !” said Miss Ackland 
sadly, as she cast her tearful eyes over the smiling 
prospect that lay spread without. Silence fell on all, 
the silence of tender recollection; a light wind played 
in the clustering vines about the open window ; the 
breath of the jasmine and clematis was wafted 
fresh and balmy into the room, — beautiful and touch- 
ing emblem of the odor of sweetness which the good 
leave on earth behind them when they have passed to 
the spirit-land ! 

Rose was the first to break the silence, evidently 
with the intention of diverting her aunt from her 
gloomy thoughts — “ What were we talking of before 
we turned off, by way of digression, to Scotch airs 
and Irish harpers ? — oh ! the Highlands, and Lochaber, 
to be sure — well, really. Signor, I never thought you 
had so much enthusiasm as I see you have — it is quite 
refreshing to hear you talk of those wild scenes and 
wild people ! — I don’t know but I shall pay them a visit 
myself some day — that is if anybody will be so kind 
as to take me ?” Then she sang in her real or affected 
exuberance of feeling, — 

“ Hurrah for ihe Highlands, the stern Scottish Highlands, 

The home of the clansman, the brave and the free, 

Where the clouds love to rest o’er the mountain’s rough breast, 

E’er they journey afar o’er the islandless sea !” 

“Well done. Miss Rose!” said a cheery, but not 
over sweet voice without ; “ I give you my word, I 


240 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

couldn’t do it better myself!” And Harry Cusack 
made his appearance at the open window, raising his 
hat politely to the ladies, nodding stiffly to their 
companion. 

“ You 1” said Rose, “ why you have no more voice 
than a jack-daw 1” 

“ Who said I had ?” was the good-humored answer 
^‘didn’t I say I couldn’t do it better myself? But 
who’s for a drive this fine evening ? It’s a pity to bo 
in the house, so I thought I’d come and see if you 
ladies wouldn’t like a moonlight drive by the rivei 
side.” 

“ Oh ! you dear Harry Cusack^ the very thing we 
would like 1” said Rose clapping her hands ; “ of course 
you will come. Signor ?” turning to Giacomo, 

“ Thank you,” he replied with icy coldness, “ I pro- 
mised to drop in this evening at Mr. Brodigan’s ; I 
should have been there before now.” 

“ Could you not postpone your visit till to-morrow 
evening, and come with us ?” Miss Ackland inquired ; 
she looked at Cusack, so did Giacomo, but Cusack 
was looking another way, and Miss Ackland had too 
much tact to renew an invitation which ought to 
come from another. Giacomo hurried away, anxious, 
as he said, to keep his appointment, and Rose made 
no effort to detain him, wishing him, on the contrary, 
a very pleasant evening. 

' “You might have had the politeness to ask the 
Signor, too,” said Rose somewhat pettishly, as oha 
helped her aunt to “ wrap up.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


241 


“ I’ve got my horse to think of, Miss Rose !” 

“ I vow you’re as gruff as a bear.” 

“ Thank you kindly, Miss Rose ! Allow me to put 
on your shawl !” 

“ Thank you kindly, I have it on ! But, do you 
know, Mr. Harry Cusack, I have half a mind not to 
go, when you are so fearful of overloading your 
horse, you know !” And. she stood swinging her 
bonnet by the. ties, as if irresolute. 

“Fie, fie. Rose!” said her aunt; “how childishly 
you talk 1 Put on your bonnet, and let us go !” 
Rose left the room. “ I wonder, Mr. Cusack, wifi 
Rose ever learn to control her tongue ?” 

“ That depends,” said Cusack, shrugging his shoul- 
ders as naturally as though he were a born French- 
man. “ Are you ready now, ladies ?” As Rose trip- 
ped in, shawled and bonnetted, looking so pretty that 
even her aunt could not help noticing it, to herself, 
of course, — she was ever chary of compliments, espe- 
cially to her niece. 

“ This is very pleasant,” said Rose, as having de- 
scended the steps to the lower road, they found the 
car waiting, and started at a brisk trot along the 
white smooth road, running close by the river-side. 
“This is very pleasant, if none of the dead are walk- 
ing abroad in the moonlight. Suppose, now, we 
were to meet Tom Cullen, the cooper 1’^ 

“ Oh ! you shocking girl, what ideas come into your 
head I” 

“ Very shocking, I know, Aunt Lydia ! but very 


242 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


natural, when one is out at night on the Boyne sida 
Mr. Cusaek !” turning to that gentleman who sat, dos- 
a-dos^ on the opposite side of the car, “ did you ever 
see Tom Cullen, the cooper ?” 

“ I can’t say I did, Miss Rose, and I hope I’ll be 
longer so ! — drive on faster, Ned !” to his man. The 
subject was not to Mr. Cusack’s liking, it was plain. 

“ I wonder is it true that so many people have seen 
that most unlucky of coopers,” went on Rose ; “ the 
steps on which they say he stands ought to be some- 
where about here. No, I believe they are farther up 
towards the bridge. Dear me ! what a thing it must 
be for any one going up or down to see him standing 
at a turn of the steps, Tvhere they can’t avoid passing 
him, without stepping into the river. A nice dilem- 
ma, that, isn’t it, Mr. Cusack?” 

“ Ye-es ! — ^nice, indeed, but not over pleasant ! — 
shall we take the Baltray road. Miss Ackland ?” 

As you please, Mr Cusack ! — we have no choice !” 
and Miss Ackland, dropping her voice to a whisper, 
begged Rose to let Tom Cullen rest in peace, and if 
she must talk, to choose some other subject. 

Rose promised with a smile of doubtful meaning, 
and she kept silent for a while, but all at once, she 
said: “Mr. Cusack! did you ever see the headless 
woman in white that is said to walk this road by 
night ?” 

“An’ sure if she didn’t walk byyiight, Miss, it 
isn’t by day she’d walk!” put in Ned from his perch 
in front, looking round with so knowing a look on 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 243 

Ills face that it seemed as though he thoroughly urn 
derstood, and sufficiently enjoyed the young lady’s 
persistent efforts to “ make night hideous.” 

“ Don’t speak till you’re spoken to !” said his mas- 
ter sharply, then answered Rose’s question in the 
negative. 

“ Nor the big black dog with fiery eyes ?” 

Oh ! the villain o’ the world !” ejaculated Ned, low 
and slow, “ sure he most put the life out o’ me one 
night last winther !” 

“ Didn’t I tell you not to put in your tongue, yoi 
blockhead ?” said the master still more sharply than 
before. 

“ Sure I know you did, sir,’ but I thought it was no 
harm to answer the young lady’s question, as I had 
seen the dog, an’ I thought maybe you hadn’t, Mr. 
Cusack!” 

“ It was a harm, then ; see that you don’t do it 
again 1” 

“ Sure I won’t, sir; I’d be long sorry when you onst 
forbid me.” 

Ned was silenced, but not so Rose, for the more 
she saw it annoyed poor Cusack, the more she kept 
on talking of all the ghosts whose “ local habitation” 
was anywhere in that vicinity, for, thanks to Nancy’s 
story-telling propensities, and her own fondness (as a 
chixd) for ghost-stories, she knew them all. In vain 
did her aunt endeavor many times to change tlie 
subject of conversation; still the wayward girl re- 
turned to the same dismal themes, always addressing 


244 


THB OLD HODSE BY THE BOYNE. 


her discourse to Mr. Cusack, and winding up by say* 
ing with sly meaning when he handed her down at 
the gate on their return — 

*■/ hope you enjoyed the drive^ Mr. Cusack ? — I did 
amazingly !” He muttered something, and bidding 
Miss Ackland “ good night,” stepped on his car, and 
told Ned to drive on, without so much as looking at 
Rose. 

“ Serve you right !” said her aunt, as they ascended 
the steps together. 

“ Serve him right !” and Rose laughed merrily, “ he 
was so rude to Signor Giacomo I” 



CHAPTER XIV. 


It was St. John’s Eve, and the bonfires were blaz- 
ing in the streets of the old borough, shedding a 
reddish light on the dark walls, and sharp angles, and 
irregular outlines of the quaint old-time fabrics, and 
giving to all that picturesque character which broad 
light and deep shadow alternating are sure to pro- 
duce. Every eminence the country over sent up its 
cheerful glow to the blue mid-summer sky, and all 
along the river side were seen at shoit intervals, the 
merry groups of the young dancing around the sym- 
bol-fires, which their fathers lit of old in honor of 
their god Baal, and which they, of more favored 
times, made commemorative of the light of Chris- 
tianity happily shed over the island in after-times. 

The evening was beautiful, apart from the joyous 
celebration, and Miss Ackland proposed to Rose and 
Giacomo, who had taken tea with them, that they 
should go down and have a walk by the river side. 
The young people were delighted with the proposal, 
and they all three sallied forth, leaving Xancy sitting 
on the door-step under the deep porch, watching with 
much interest the fires that shot up here and there in 
vjuick succession, flashing out through the deepening 
gloom of twilight. 


246 


TUK OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


After a pleasant walk along the river road, paus- 
ing occasionally to watch the dancers who were foot- 
ing it merrily round some of the fires to the so and 
of pipes or violin, our little party returned home, 
with the addition of Harry Cusack and Mr. Brodi- 
gan who had joined them on the way. To those 
who understood the reason, it was amusing to see 
how studiously the former gentleman avoided Rose 
whilst they were out of doors, and Mr. Brodigan, 
not understanding it, began to twit him with his want 
of gallantry. 

“ When I was a young man, Harry !” said he, 
“ it isn’t a pair of black eyes that would frighten 
me !” 

“And do you mean to say, Mr. Brodigan, that 
eyes black or blue frighten Mr. Cusack?” said Rose 
with a mischievous glance at the latter. 

“ Well! I declare it looks like it,” said honest Mr. 
Brodigan ; “ I never saw Harry so backward before 
in regard to the ladies. I’m afraid some of you have 
been trying his patience overmuch.” 

“ Hot a bit of it, Mr. Brodigan I” responded Rose 
quickly ; “ you know my aunt never tries anybody’s 
patience, so there would be nobody here to do such a 
naiighty thing only me, and Mr. Cusack knows him- 
self what pains I took to keep him in good spirits 
and in good humor the last time we saw him. Didn’t 
I, Harry ?” 

A grim and somewhat woe-begone smile was 
Harry’s answer ; he coughed slightly, and then, with 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


247 


a sudden flush, glanced at Giacomo, as though sus- 
pecting that he might have heard of Rose’s experi 
ments in the way of keeping up his spirits ; but Gia- 
como was talking to Miss Ackland, and as Harry did 
not chance to perceive the peculiar smile that curved 
his lip at the moment, he felt relieved, and soon 
glided back into his old manner. But Rose was not 
going to let him off so easily. 

“ Wasn’t it quite a coincidence,” said she, “ Mr. 
Brodigan, that, of all things or people, who should 
come into my head the other night, when Mr. Cusack 
was good enough to take Aunt Lydia and myself out 
for a drive, but Tom Cullen, the cooper, whose 
troubled spirit, you know, haunts the spot where he 
was murdered? We were passing somewhere near 
there at the time, and nothing would serve the cooper 
but he must pop into my head just when I least 
wished to see him ? Wasn^^ it a coincidence ?” 

A disagreeable one, I should say,” returned Mr. 
Brodigan, sufficiently acquainted with his friend’s 
nocturnal weakness regarding the inhabitants of the 
other world to catch tlie point of the allusion. “ I’d 
rather think of something else were I in your place 
just then. Why didn’t you think of Harry Cusack, 
eh ? — or the Signor, here, or some other fine young 
fellow ?” 

“ One of the red-coats,” put in Cusack, determined 
to give Rose tit for tat, as he said to himself ; “ most 
of the young ladies hereabouts would be thinking of 
some gallant son of Mars these times, who is alive 


2-18 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 


and hearty, instead of a dead cooper. Eh, Miss 
Rose ? — don’t you think so ?” 

“ Decidedly I do, Mr. Cusack ! I, for one, love 
the red-coats dearly, and my heart begins to beat— 
oh ! ever so fast, when I hear the drum.” 

“ I guessed as much !” 

“You did, eh? — well! I’m glad to find you can 
guess so well — now you know how to keep up my 
spirits, any time you may see them down low, and 
feel charitably disposed to raise them. After all,” 
she added, as if with kindling enthusiasm, “there is no 
sight like a military show, — oh ! I do so love it !” 
Then throwing herself into an attitude, she sang in 
her gayest way — 

“ No music for me like the row-dow-dow, 

And no youih like the Captain with smart cockade.” 

“Yes, that’s what comes of it !” said Cusack look- 
ing very grave ; “ if young ladies will be allowed to 
pick up with such snobs of fellows, and run after 
their fife and drum, they’ll never be worth a pin to 
themselves or any one else, for they get their heads 
full of all sorts of wild, ridiculous notions, and can’t 
settle their minds to anything !” 

“Very true, Mr. Cusack!” said Miss Ackland, sur- 
prised herself at what seemed the strange levity of 
Bose’s manner, although understanding, or fancying 
she understood, her motive, but I must beg that you 
will not judge Rose by her words ; you do not sus- 
pect her^' and she smiled, of picking up^ or me of al- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


249 


lowing her to pick up, with strangers, whether in red 
or black coats, do you 

“ Oh ! well, as for that. Miss Ackland ! wouldn’t 
suspect you of anything except what was prudent and 
proper, but then the wisest in the world can’t .always 
have their wits about them — they’re subject to make 
mistakes as well as others” — and he looked full at 
Giacomo, who sat a rather puzzled listener, not know- 
ing exactly what to make of the conversation. 

Miss Ackland smiled, but she colored, too, and was 
evidently a little annoyed ; but too polite to seem to 
take a hint that she well knew was meant for her, she 
said — 

“ I think, Mr. Cusack, we had better change the 
subject of conversation.” 

“ And I think it’s about time we were going. Miss 
Lydia,” said Mr. Brodigan rising ; “ what with the 
ghost and the red-coats, we have had quite a little 
stir of it. Very pleasant, and very exciting — ha! 
ha ! I see Miss Rose is able to hold her own with 
you, Harry, my boy ?” 

“I should think she was,” replied Cusack dryly, 

her tongue has quite a military rattle of late.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Cusack !” said Rose with a smile 
and a very low curtsey, “ I am practising a la mili- 
taire^ you see, and it is encouraging to have your 
opinion that I succeed so well. Thank you, very 
much ! Should I make up my mind to try my luck 
in the Fille du Regiment^ I shall know where to ap- 
ply for a reference as to capability.” 


25C THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 

More than ever bewildered by this sally, poor 
Cusack made no answer, though he tried to echo 
Brodiganjs good-humored laugh as they shook hands 
with the ladies. 

“ Are we friends now, Mr. Cusack ?” said Rose 
running after him to the parlor-door. “ I am afraid 
you are the least bit angry with me.” 

“ Oh ! dear me ! not at all. Miss Rose ! why should 
I be angry ? — I never was in better humor in my 
life.” 

“ I’m exceedingly glad to hear it — good night 
then, and once again ‘ good night.’ Happy be your 
dreams — and not of Tom Cullen f she called after him 
down the steps. 

“ You are cruel, are you not?” whispered Giacomo, 
as he lingered a moment after saying “good night.” 

“ Rot at all — why do you ask ?” 

“ You remind me of a cat playing with the unfor- 
tunate mouse it has caught, and is ready to devour !” 

Rose’s laugh rang out clear and musical, as she 
almost pushed the young man down the steps — “ Get 
you gone. Signor ! you are losing all the politeness 
you ever had ! — I a cat, seeking to devour Harry 
Cusack !— Mercy on us ! what an idea !” 

“ A very natural idea ! — don’t you think so. Miss 
Ackland ?” 

“ Rot exactly as you take it, Giacomo ! — playing 
with the mouse she may be, this naughty kitten of 
ours, but for any further design on its mouse-ship, I 
think I can acquit her of that piece of cruelty.” 


THE old douse cr THE boyne. 


251 


“ Oh ! pray don’t excuse me, Aunt Lydia ! pray 
don’t — let him think as he likes of me, I shall take the 
same liberty with him, and think something very, 
very bad of him?” 

“ Very, very bad — will you ? — how candid ! — But 
I must hurry alter the others — I should like to have 
the benefit of their company into tOYvm — as Miss 
Rose will have us all afraid of ghosts !” he added 
laughing, as he ran down the steps to overtake the 
other gentlemen. A word reached his ear as he left 
the side of Rose Ackland that half induced him to 
turn back, but he would not do what he would have 
found it hard to account for, so he went on his way 
as before. 

It was old Nancy that had spoken the word, hav- 
ing been evidently waiting for the opportunity. 
“ Miss Ackland dear !” said she, “ if I hadn’t a fright 
since ! — there was an officer here while you were 
gone !” That was all Giacomo heard. 

“ An officer !” cried both the ladies. “ What officer ?” 

“ Och ! sure myself can’t tell you that, but he was 
a fine, tall, portly gentleman, that ’id put you in mind. 
Miss Lyddy, if you seen him, of — him, you know.” 

“ Major Melville, I’m sure !” said Rose to her aunt, 
ns the latter sank trembling on the bench in the porch. 

“ Major Melville !” repeated Nancy, “ the gentle- 
man you met by chance one evenin’ in the spring, an’ 
that took such a start out of you ? Ah ! then, I 
wasn’t far wrong — I’m sure he’s some near relation oi 
the poor dear Captain, the darlin’ o’ the world he was !’' 


•252 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ He is bis brother,” said Miss Acldand, “ his only 
brother — I may as well tell you, at once ! — but what 
Drought him here ? — what did he want ? — what did 
he say to you, Haney ?” 

“Well! as for what brought him, Miss Lyddy, I 
can’t take upon me to say, — I suppose if you had 
been in, he’d have tould you his business, but he didn't 
tell me, and for what would he ?” 

“ But did he not speak to you ?” asked Rose, on a 
motion from her aunt. 

“ Did he spake to me, is it ? Well! he did, an’, in- 
deed, a fine, well-spoken gentleman he is, too ! — he 
asked me if the old place wasn’t for sale, an’ when I 
said no, it wasn’t, he said there was some house about 
here that he was tould was for sale, but he supposed 
he had mistaken the place.” 

“ So, then, he had business, after all !” cried Rose ; 
“ I thought you said he had none.” 

“Did I? — Well whether or not, that’s what he 
said ; but, anyhow, we had a shanachus^ him an’ me.” 

“ You had ?” said Miss Ackland, raising herself 
from her half-recumbent posture, “ and what about?” 

“ He asked me if any of the family were in, an’, of 
coorse, I said no, but that there wasn’t many of them 
now to be in or out, for the Acklands were most all 
gone, barrin’ two ladies of them that live here all 
alone. ‘ Are they sisters,’ says he. — ‘ Why no !’ says I, 
‘ it’s the aunt an’ the niece ; my mistress, Miss Ack- 
land, is the daughter of the ould master, George Ack- 
land, esquare, an’ the young lady. Miss Rose^ is her 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


253 


brother’s daughter, Mr. Alexander Ackland, that 
was, — rest them all in pace!’ So, my dears! with 
tiiat he sits down there on the bench, jist about where 
you are now. Miss Lyddy dear, an’ he claps his eyes 
on me mighty sharp like, an’ says he — ‘ You’re old 
Kancy, I suppose.’ — ‘ That’s my name, your honor,’ 
says I, makin’ a curchey down to the ground, to let 
i.im see that I hadn’t lived so long in a gentleman’s 
fa.nily without knowin’ what manners is. — ‘You’re a 
long time in this family,’ says he to me. — ‘Your honor 
may say that,’ says I; ‘it’s thirty good years, an’ 
three or four to the back of it, since I came to mind 
Miss Lyddy, the darlin’, that was then a little weeny 
one toddlin’ about.’ ‘ Do you remember a Captain 
Melville that used to visit here ?’ ” 

“ My God !” murmured Miss Ackland, “ to think 
of him putting such questions to you ! But go on — 
go on, Nancy !” 

“ I wdll, asthore, I will ! — where was I ?” 

“ At where the Major asked you if you remembered 
Captain Melville,” said Rose. 

“ Ay ! that was it — to be sure, I said I did well. — 
‘Was it true?’ said he, ‘that the Captain and Miss 
Ackland came near being married ; I have heard that 
there was something of that kind on foot.’ — ‘Well!’ 
says I, ‘ I don’t know that it ever went so far as that ; 
I know the Captain, the heavens be his bed ! used to 
be a gieat deal here when he’d come into port, and 
there was ever and always a warm welcome for him 
when he came — but beyant that I can’t say, your 


254 TikE OLD HOUSE BY TUB BOYNE. 

honoi !’ — Then he looked at me very hard, and says 
he — ‘ Don’t you think Captain Melville wanted to 
marry Miss Ackland?’ Well! I didn’t know what 
I had best say, then, so I paused a while, but at last 
I began to think that there’s nothing like the truth, 
so I says to him — ‘ I b’lieve he did, sir I’ ‘ An’ Miss 
Ackland,’ he says, after musin’ a while, lookin’ down 
on the ground, I could see, though it was most dark, 
‘ Did she — do you think she cared for — for him. ’ ” 

“ Oh! Nancy, what did you say, then?” cried Miss 
Ackland, clasping her hands, and looking the pitiable 
anxiety she felt. 

“Well! now, Miss Lyddy ! whether you like it or 
not. I’ll jist tell you what I said, bekase truth is truth, 
an’, as I said before, there’s nothing like it, after all. 
Says I to him, ‘I b’lieve if Captain Melville had a 
notion of Miss Lyddy — Miss Ackland, I mane, there 
was no love lost between them.’ — ‘ Do you tell me so V 
says he; ‘why I thought she didn’t care anything 
about him — didn't she refuse him, just when bethought 
he was almost sure of a favorable answer?’ — ‘She 
didn’t mane it, your honor,’ says I back again ; ‘ it was 
all along of a word she said that the Captain took a 
wrong meanin’ out of, and when she seen he was so 
ready to take her up wrong, she got vexed that he 
didn’t see an’ know the wish she had for him, an’ so 
she spoke to him a little short, an’ he got angry, an’ 
went away, an’ she wouldn’t say a word to keep him 
though she felt as bad as he did, an’ worse, too, maybe, 
— but she thought he’d be back in a day or two, an* 


THE OLD HOUSE BY HIE BOYNR. 


255 


that then all ’id be made right — ^but ochone ! that 
was the last she seen of him, he went away in anger, 
an was lost in a great storm that came on that very 
night.’ — ‘ And was Miss Ackland very sorry ?’ says he 
Sorry !’ says I, ‘ sorry !— it most broke her heart, an’ 
I think she never got over it since.’ ” 

“ Oh Nancy !” cried Rose, “ why did you tell him 
that?” 

Well ! God help me, I didn’t know what I had 
best say, Miss Rose, so I thought I’d tell the honest 
traih.” 

And I am thankful that you did,” said Miss Ack- 
land, “ oh ! very, very thankful !-^You said what you 
ought to say, just what I would have you say were I 
within hearing.” 

‘‘ Well ! God bless you. Miss Lyddy, that’s a com- 
fort to me, anyhow ! — I’d never forgive myself, never, 
never, if I had said anything that ’id grieve you to 
hear.” 

“ I know that, Nancy ! I know it well ; but was that 
all that passed ?” 

“ There’s very little more. Miss Lyddy ! When I 
tould the gentleman what I’m after tellin’ you, he 
gave a heavy sigh, an’ says he, as if talkin’ to himself, 
‘ Oh ! that Ralph had known this in time !' — ‘ Yis, 
your honor,’ says I, ‘ he might be a livin’ man this 
day, an’ himself an’ my poor dear mistress as happy 
as the day is long together : but I suppose it wasn’t 
their luck !’ — ‘ I suppose so,’ says he, an’ with that up 
ho gets an’ goes away, jist a little while before you 


256 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


got in. Wasn’t it mighty quare, Miss Lyddy, for 
him to liappen here in a mistake, an’ get talkin’ to 
me, an’ me to see sich a likeness between him an’ his 
brother, that’s so many years dead an’ gone, though 
not knowin’ the gentleman from Adam ? An’ to hap- 
pen on sayin’ to him the very words that you’d wish 
me to say to Captain Melville’s brother, poor simple, 
ignorant body that I am! Well, sure enough, strange 
things does happen in this world, an’ that’s one o’ 
them 1” 

*‘It is, indeed, Nancy 1” said Miss Ackland, now 
quite composed, and even cheerful, — “let us go in 
now and say our night-prayers. It is after nine 
o’clock.” , 

Next day, early in the forenoon, Giacomo called, to 
say good-bye ; he was going to Dublin where he had 
not yet been, and as his stay in Ireland was drawing 
to a close, he must, of course, see the metropolis be- 
fore leaving. 

“ And when you return from Dublin,” said Miss 
Ackland, “ if you have still a few days to spare, we 
must take you to see Tara Hill, where the Kings 
of Ireland dwelt of old, and Slane, another place 
of historic interest, with some few more which 
combine both legendary and historical associa- 
tions. 

“ And since you are so kind, my dear Miss Ack 
land, I should like to visit once again the place where 
that great battle was fought, up the river.” 

“Oh! you mean Oldbridge. Well! we shall go 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


257 


there, too ! — I will ask Mr. Brodigan to drive ua 
there some day ; I know he will he happy to do so, 
for he is fond of doing the honors of our old town 
and the classic scenes around it.” 

Giacomo longed to ask who the officer was that 
had called the day previous. He lingered in hopes 
that some allusion might possibly be made to the sub- 
ject, but he hoped in vain; not a word was said that 
could tend to gratify his curiosity, and he was com- 
pelled to leave in the same state of suspense, render- 
ed still more painful by the evident improvement in 
Miss Ackland’s spirits; — had the officer's visit any 
connection with her unwonted cheerfulness? Whc 
was the officer ? could it have been Major Melville ? 
These were the questions that troubled Giacomo’s 
mind, and kept it in a tumult all unknown before, 
during the two hours’ ride to the metropolis, on the 
top of a stage-coach — the Dublin and Drogheda Rail- 
way was then in the womb of the future, perhaps un- 
dreamed of by mortal man. 

Whether he found as much to interest him in 
Dublin as he had hoped and expected, our friend had 
been only three or four days absent when he again 
presented himself in the parlor of the old house by 
the Boyne, to Miss Ackland's no small surprise, and 
lo Rose’s no small amusement. 

Well ! I declare !” said Rose, “ if here is not the 
Signor — unless it be his ghost.” And she held up 
her hands in well-feigned amazement. “ Let me look 
at you I — why, positively, it is himsolf, Aunt Lydia 1” 


258 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


‘‘ So I am glad to perceive, my dear ! very glad, 
indeed !'’ 

“ W ell ! but, where did you come from, Signor 
From the coaoh-ofiice in West street,’* said Gia- 
como, a very little annoyed by her show of astonish- 
ment. “ Where else did you suppose I came from, 
Signorina ?” 

“ Oh ! goodness knows ! from Leghorn, perhaps, — 
or the Peak of Teneriffe, or some such outlandish 
place. But, seriously, what brought you back so 
soon ? I suppose you didn’t see much in Dublin to 
admire ?’’ 

‘‘Well! not a great deal; and then, being all alone, 
I found it rather dull work drivingand walking around. 
I got tired to death of seeing that muddiest of rivers, 
the Liffey, everywhere I went, and the really fine 
buildings on some of the quays lost half their charm.s 
for me when I saw them reflected in those turbid 
waters.” 

“Ha! lia!” laughed Rose, and she shook her head 
saucily ; “ the Liffey is very different from the Boyne. 
Here you see ‘ the purest of crystal,’ as well as ‘ the 
brightest of green.’ ” 

“ But Dublin is a handsome city,” observed Miss 
Ackland ; “ did you not think so, Giaconio ? The 
squares, for instance, are very fine, and one of them, 
Stephen’s Green, very spacious. Then the public 
buildings are beautiful, at least many of them. But 
I fear you did not wait to see much of the city, or 
yet of its environs.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


259 


“ I confess I did not ; 1 begin to feel as though I 
ought to be at home, and as I promised to spend a 
few days in Drogheda before leaving, I thought I 
would make no delay in Dublin. When can we go to 
Oldbridge, Miss Ackland ?” 

“ To-morrow, if you like ; as it will be Saturday — 
our demi-conge — we shall have the afternoon to our- 
selves, Rose and I, and we shall go this evening and 
see if Mr. Brodigan can come. Stay and have tea 
with us, and we can all go togcjther ; they will be glad 
to see you.” 

Giacomo staid, nothing loth, and as school was not 
yet dismissed, he went down to the river side for a 
quiet stroll. 

When he returned it was almost tea-time; the 
ladies were in the garden, and thither he went to find 
them. There was a cloud on his usually calm brow 
which rather surprised the ladies, and Rose was 
tempted to ask what had happened, but on second 
thoughts she did not, and went on making up her 
nosegay, singing — “ Love was once a hunter boy.” 
Giacomo threw himself moodily on a rustic bench 
hard by. 

“ Miss Ackland,” said he, “ who do you think I met 
down below ?” 

“I am sure I cannot tell, Giacomo! — ^Who was 
It?” 

“ Why that Major Melville ; he was riding along 
with another oflacer, and he stared at me as though I 
had two heads on me, or some other monstrosity. 


260 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


I wonder why he honors me wdth so keen a scru 
tiny.” 

“ Oh ! my dear Giacomo, you only imagine it,” 
said Miss Ackland in perfect good faith ; “ why should 
he look at you more than any one else ?” 

“That’s just what I intend to ask him at our 
next meeting; as for my only imagining that he 
watches me closely, I assure you, it is no such thing. 
Miss Ackland. But I’m determined to know wdiy ho 
takes the liberty of staring at me.” 

“ And if you do,” said Rose, “ he will probably tell 
you that a cat may look at a king. I advise you to 
let Major Melville alone.” 

“You do? Well! I shall not take your advice, 
Miss Rose, on this occasion. I shall take my own.” 

“ Very well ! do as you please I” 

“You appear to know more of this gentleman, 
Miss Rose, than you choose to tell.” 

“ Not I, indeed ! — I never exchanged half a dozen 
words with him then she gaily carolled forth — 

“ Oh if I had a beau 
For a soldier who’d go, 

Do you think I’d say no I 
No, not I.-’ 

“ I wish I were a soldier,” thought Giacomo, as he 
watched the blithe and graceful creature bounding 
along the old garden walks in search of her favorite 
flowers — “ who knows what my chances might be, 
then I” 

Nancy’s voice was now heard, and her picture-like 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


261 


face seen at the backdoor of the hall, announcing 
that tea was ready. 

The meal being over, our trio proceeded, as pre- 
arranged, to Mr. Brodigan’s, where their unexpected 
arrival was hailed, as usual, with sincere cordiality. 
Cusack was there too, and so was a certain Mr. Bel- 
lew, a new pretender to the hand of Miss Brodigan, 
senior; on hearing of the intended visit to O’.dbridge 
and Donore, they both proposed to be of the party. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Brodigan, never more at home 
than in getting up excursions, and pic-nics, and all 
such rural entertainments, “ yes, and we’ll bring our 
dinner with us ; I’ll have all ready by the time Miss 
Ackland gets rid of her scholars — weary on them for 
scholars ! but it’s hard to be tied down to them, es- 
pecially the like of Miss Ackland and Miss Rose !” 

“I appreciate your kind sympathy, my dear Mrs. 
Brodigan,” said Miss Ackland with her grave, sweet 
smile, “ but you must not say anything against ray pu- 
pils — I assure you I was very glad to get them, and I 
should find it hard to get along without them. Every 
one cannot be rich, or the same person always in 
good circumstances : xve had our turn of prosperity, 
and I solemnly declare I am just as happy now, and 
so, I am sure, is Rose. It is not fortune that either 
of ns regrets in our past.” There was a deep pathos 
in her voice that sufficiently conveyed her meaning, 
and more than one of her auditors, even those all un- 
used to the melting mood, turned away to hide the 
tear that would come, to the cherished memory of 


252 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


him who had been as a patriarch in their genial 
circle. 

Next day the sun shone out in the gorgeous splen- 
lor of the long raid-summer day ; early in the after- 
noon, our party set out on their pleasant drive up the 
river side to the picturesque and storied heights of 
Oldbridge, where, for an hour or two, they wandered 
through those romantic scenes so suggestive of seri- 
ous thought, so rich in their associations. Giacomo 
was delighted with all he saw; the gloomy grandeur of 
King William’s Glen, through whose wooded depths 
William of Orange led himself his hardy veterans from 
the Khine against the brave but ungeneralled Irish 
army on the opposite bank. He was shown the iden- 
tical spot where Caillemote, the leader of the French 
Huguenots, fell descending the heights, and Duke 
Schomberg in mid-stream leading his command across 
the ford; and George Walker, famous for his defence 
of Derry. 

“Irish gunners aimed well,” said Mr. Brodigan, 
“ and they would have taken higher aim still, only for 
the rascally chicken-heart that was in that James 
Stuart — faugh ! I don’t wonder at the name that 
Irish tongues put on him after — the poor, pitiful pol- 
troon ! You must know. Signor Giacomo, that in 
the thick of the battle, an Irish gunner came to tell 
him that he had King William under cover, and 
could shoot him dead in a minute, if he only gave the 
word. ‘ Oh !’ says the old hen- wife of a man, ‘ would 
you leave my daughter a widow ?’ So the gunner 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


2G3 


did not shoot, but he fired no more, he was so dis- 
gusted.” 

Giacomo could not view the king’s conduct in the 
same light as Mr. Brodigan ; he thought him more 
entitled to respect than to censure for his tenderness 
of heart, but, seeing the good man so full of indigna- 
tion against the unfortunate monarch, he kept his 
mind to himself, and turned to admire the stately 
Obelisk, the ornament of the Glen, hewn out of a 
massive rock, to commemorate the success of Wil- 
liam’s arras, and the defeat of the too chivalrous and 
devoted Irish who fought the battle for James, and 
lost it by his miserable incapacity. Giacomo sighed 
as he read the inscription on the Obelisk — 

Sacred to the Glorious Memory of King William the 
Third, &c.* 

He thought of the heroic devotion of the “ Popish 
army” mentioned in it, to a prince who, by all ac- 

* Many of our readers, who have not sa.-n, and never may see, 
the Boyne Obelisk, may desire to see the whole of the inscrip- 
‘ion, which is as follows : 

“ Sacred to the memory of King William the Third, who, on 
the 1st of July, 1690, crossed the Boyne near this place, to at- 
tack Janies the Second at the head of a Popish army, advan- 
tageously posted on the south side of it, and did on that day, 
by a successful battle, secure to us and our poslericy our liberiy, 
laws, and religion. In consequence of this aciiun James the 
Srcond left this kingdom, and fled to France. This memorial 
of our deliverance was erected in the nimh year of the reign of 
George the Second, the first stone being laid by Lionel Sack- 


264 THE OLD nODSE BY THE BOYNE. 

counts, was so little worthy ot* the sacrifices they 
made for him — a prince who was not of their own 
blood, but belonged, on the contrary, to a race who 
had never given Ireland aught but promises, broken 
as soon as made — a prince who had nothing in com- 
mon with those so faithful followers but the religion 
he and they professed. Yet they sacrificed all for 
him, those true-hearted sons of Catholic Ireland, who 
erred only in trusting an English Stuart ! 

It was on the hill of Donore, overlooking the Glen, 
on the southern or Meath side, that our party dined, 
just without the boundaries — walled no longer — of the 
ancient graveyard, from whose church, even then in 
ruins. King James is said by tradition to have watch- 
ed the progress of the battle, and witnessed the ex- 
tinction of his last hope in the final defeat of the Irish 
army. The scene was grand and solemn as the as- 
sociations connected with it; the deep, dark glen, 
with its shelving sides thickly wooded, the bright 
river running in its midst far below, and the graceful 
Obelisk standing boldly out from the green woods at 
the lower opening of the Glen ; the hill of Donore, 
from which our party looked down on the river and 
the valley, and close beside them the deserted grave- 

ville, Duke of Dorset, Lord Lieutenant of the Kingdom of Ire- 
land, 

MDCCXXXVI. 

This monument was erected by the grateful contributions of 
several Protestants of Great Britain and Ireland.” — Dalton’s 
Histcry of Drogheda, 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


26 b 


yard with its sunken tombs, and long-tangled grass, 
and the little that remains of the ancient church, 
pointing back to a period long anterior to th>i Re- 
formation, On a tombstone near the ruins, James 
was said to have sat watching the terrible struggle 
going on below — how appropriate a seat for the 
fallen monarch whom even his nearest of kin had 
deserted ! — Oh ! the ])lace was drear, and sad, and 
lonely ; and yet it had so many attractions for Gia- 
como, there was such an indefinable blending of old 
romance and ever-youthful beauty, such a cloud of 
historical and legendary interest hung over the place, 
that he thought he could have staid there forever, 
j)rovided the same company, or part of it, was there 
to enjoy it with him — and he, perhaps others, too, of 
the party, left it with regret. 



CHAPTER XV. 


Those few pleasant days passed all too quickly; 
Giacomo came one afternoon to say that he was or- 
dered home immediately, and he added with a smile, 
^ Delays are never excusable with my father, so, go 
I must, without fail.” 

Miss Ackland, summoned from the school-room to 
receive his visit, expressed herself much disappointed ; 
“ I had planned so much,” said she, “ and have accom- 
plished so little in the way of entertaining you, and 
now it is all over !” 

My dear, kind friend,” the young man replied 
with unwonted emotion, “ it was the best of all en- 
tertainments to me to come and go here at pleasure, 
to enjoy, when I would, the calm delight of a quiet 
evening in your society, and that of — of Miss Rose.” 

“ And yet,” said Miss Ackland smiling, “ I am 
afraid Rose gave you some aimo}fance of iate by her 
girlish waywardness.” 

“None but what I could easily overlook — in her.” 

“ You are very kind and very indulgent,” said Miss 
Ackland ; “ oh ! how much I shall miss you !” — and 
her eyes filled with tears — “ somehow^ it seemed to 
me as though you were a sort of link between me 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE.. 


267 


and some long-lost phase of my existence that was 
pleasant while it lasted, — what it was that attracted 
me to you I never could satisfactorily explain to my- 
self, — but there was something from the very first,— 
something, I fancy, like what mothers feel for very 
dear children — only not quite so strong, I suppose f’ 
and she smiled through her tears. 

“ It is very strange,” said Giacomo, after a short 
pause, “ that I have been attracted to you, my kind- 
est, dearest friend, in just the same way, and, like 
you, I have many a time tried to explain it to myself, 
but never could succeed. Would that your country 
was mine, or mine yours !” 

“ Wishes are vain, my dear young friend, — we 
must only resign ourselves to the hard necessity that 
places broad seas between us! We cannot have 
things as we would wish in this probationary world I 
Should you not like to see Rose ?” 

“ Certainly I should — just for a moment, to say good- 
bye ; — if Miss Rose can be spared so long from the 
school-room.” A scarcely perceptible smile accom- 
panied these last words, but Miss Ackland was gone, 
and, of course, did not perceive it. 

A minute or two after Rose made her appearance ; 
— she looked just as usual, only better, Giacomo 
thought, in the plain mourning-calicd dress which 
she wore in the school-room, with the prettiest and 
tiniest of black silk aprons. She was perfectly calm, 
even subdued in her demeanor — her school-room 
manner, Giacomo said to himself. 


268 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

“ So you are really going home, Signor ?” she said 
on entering. 

“ Yes, my father wishes me to return as soon as 
possible.” 

“ And I suppose we shall see you here no more ?” 
still more calmly than before. 

“ I really cannot say as to that ; if it should be so, 
the sorrow, fortunately, will be all my own.” 

“ Pray do not say so, Signor Giacomo !” said Rose 
with unwonted earnestness ; “ you know, I am sure, 
how much my aunt likes to have you near her, and 
how she, at least, will miss you !” 

“ She has been good enough to tell me so — and, in- 
deed, I shall miss her.” 

He paused a moment, walked to the window, and 
returned to where he had been standing, then looked 
full in Rose’s face. “ Should we never meet again, 
Signorina, I wish you to understand that you have 
my best wishes for your happiness; if you are as 
happy in the future as I wish you, you need desire no 
more.” 

“ Dear me ! what a solemn affair you make of it !” 
exclaimed Rose, in a tone of good-natured raillery ; 
“ I’m sure I never doubted your good wish to all our 
family. Signor Giacomo ! and I’m sure we all wish 
you just as well as you do us. But where's the use 
of making your good-bye so tragical? — I suppose 
we shall meet again some day !” 

“ Are you ever sorry to part with any one, Misa 
Rose ?” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


269 


“Mercy on ms! what a question!” and the girl 
burst into one of her light-hearted fits of laughter. 
“ I declare you grow stranger and stranger every 
day ! Of course I do feel sorry to part with people 
once in a while, that is— — ” 

“ Suppose it were Major Melville who was going, 
instead of me ?” 

“ Oh ! that would be quite another thing,” Rose 
quickly replied, and a smile of peculiar meaning 
curved her lip, and brightened her eyes ; “ you have 
no right to inquire what my feelings would be in such 
case made and provided. It would be something 

very dreadful to part with Major Melville ahem ! 

Dear me ! it would be shocking ! — But I am waiting 
too long — I hear my young subjects becoming noisy, 
they are sure to take advantage of my absence ! — 
good-bye. Signor !” and she frankly and kindly, yet 
unconcernedly, held out her hand, which the young 
man took abstractedly as one but half conscious — 
“ good-bye ! give my love to Maddalena, and my — 
respect — to your father !” she could not repress a smile, 
for she had almost said fear instead of respect. “ Good- 
bye ! and I wish you a pleasant and safe voyage 
home.” 

Her aunt came in at" the moment, and Rose was in 
her place in the school-room before Giacomo had 
recovered from his bewilderment. A hasty shake- 
hands with Miss Ackland ; a cordially exprejssed hope 
from her that they might soon meet again — an affec- 
tionate message for his sister, — a civil one for his 


270 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


father, and Giacomo left the old house by the Boyne, 
with feelings that he could scarcely define, even to 
himself. He had reached the top of the steps when 
he heard Haney at the hall-door calling after him, and 
stopped till she overtook him. 

“ Ah ! then. Mister Jacomy,” she cried all breath- 
less with the race she had had from the kitchen when 
Miss Ackland told her Giacomo was gone ; “ ah then, 
is it goin’ away without seein’ me you’d be ? Dear 
knows but that’s bad shanagh^ for it’s not what Vd 
do to you^ Mister Jacomy !” 

“ Do, pray, excuse me, Haney !” said the young man, 
kindly shaking her by the hand ; “ I know I should 
have asked for you, but somehow I forgot it at the 
last moment. I should be sorry, indeed, to forget 
you I Ho one that knows you so well as I do would 
willingly forget you leaving here !” 

This mollified the old woman. “ Well, someway or 
another,” said she, “ all the quality that ever comes 
back and for’ads here does take notice of me. Didn’t 
Major Melville, even, ask me if I wasn’t ‘ old Nancy ?’ 
- — ^he did, indeed !” 

“ Major Melville !” said Giacomo, with a sudden 
flash of recollection, “ so he was the officer who called 
here on St. John’s Eve ?” 

“To be sure — who else would it be ?” said Haney 
in her desire to exalt the family importance. 

“Was that his first visit ?” 

“ In coorse it was — but,” and Haney lowered her voice 
to a confidential tone, and looked mysterious — “but — 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


271 


he had met the ladies before — an’ though he came all as 
one as thihkin’ the house was for sale — it wasn’t that, 
at all, that brought him — I seen that as plain as a 
pike-staff.” Then approaching the young man, very 
near, she said in an emphatic whisper — “ He Jist 
wanted an excuse to get in ! — that was it ! — But, my 
goodness ! don’t let on that I was tollin’ you, for 
Miss Ackland is so very partick’lar, she mightn’t be 
pleased at me ! — Well, God be with you. I must 
hurry in, for this is my washin’ day, an’ I'm very busy ! 
I hope you’ll be back soon !” 

Poor old Nancy 1 little she knew, as she bent again 
over her wash-tub, the effect of her well-meaning gos- 
sip on him who heard it ! Strange to say, it quick- 
ened his step, and dispelled the sadness that was 
weighing his heart down, and sent forth a new man, 
with a new heart, as he said himself, to battle with 
the storms of life. A new spirit had come into him, 
and though he went not on his way rejoicing, he 
walked with a firmer step, and a prouder mien, look- 
ing the future sternly in the face, and resolved to for- 
get the warm visions of the past before entering on 
the cold realities of his coming life. Doubt and 
fear had now given place to certainty in a matter 
near and dear to his heart, and he haughtily, defiantly, 
cast away the hope that had gilt many an hour of his 
life during the past months ! 

He left Drogheda on the following day, not with- 
out hearing Mass at early morning in the High Lane 
Chapel, almost in the shadow of Lawrence’s Gate, and 


272 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


there offering up his prayers with the simple piety of 
a true Italian for those he was leaving, perhaps for* 
ever. The Madonna, his own Madonna, looked down 
on him with her sweet, motherly eyes from the 
ancient wall of the humble temple, and he bowed his 
head before her as he used to do when a little child 
in his far Tuscan home, and asked her maternal bless- 
ing and her powerful aid in the trials and troubles 
that might still await him in a life that as yet had 
been smooth and tranquil. Then he went forth more 
hopeful, more resigned, and bade a cheerful farewell 
to the friends who went to see him off, thinking the 
while of poor Jemmy Nulty, whom he should see no 
more on earth, and breathing a prayer which he al- 
most felt to be superfluous, for the pilgrim’s soul. 

Miss Ackland missed her young friend even more 
than she had anticipated ; she often spoke of him, and 
always in terms of praise, regretting that they had 
seen so much of him only to lose his society when 
she, at least, had learned to value it most, 

“ I feel precisely towards him,” she would say, “ as 
though he were a near and dear relation. We see so 
few like him, now-a-days, — ^he is so gentle in his ways, 
so kind and so considerate, so refined, too, in his 
sentiments.” 

Rose shrugged her shoulders ; she was not quite 
so great an admirer of the Signor as her aunt, so she 
said ; the young man was pretty fair and might pass 
in a crowd, but she really did not see what her aunt 
saw in him to make her rate him so highly To 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


273 


Nancy she talked in the same strain of Giacomo, 
when his name came up, and sometimes got a sharp 
rebuff for the same from the warm-hearted old 
woman who could never bear to hear any one she 
loved spoken lightly of. At such times Rose would 
laugh merrily, and say, “ Why, you don’t expect, 
Nancy, that every one should think as much of your 
‘Mister Jacomy’ as you do? every one is free to 
have their opinion, you know !” But from a spirit 
of contradiction she would herself introduce the sub- 
ject, enjoying of all things the annoyance her want 
of appreciation of Giacomo gave the old woman. 

It was one gray, soft evening in the early part of 
August, and Miss Ackland stood on the esplanade 
with a gentleman who had been paying her a visit 
and was now leaving. He was a priest, that was 
plain, though his black, clerical coat was of the rus- 
tiest, and his whole appearance that of a man who 
had little to boast of on the score of wealth. lie 
was rather stout built, and would have been tall were 
it not for a slight stoop that took somewhat from his 
height. His face was rather sallow, and far from 
handsome, but its expression was so benignant, there 
was such a simplicity of look, and air, and gesture 
about the man, and such an unmistakeable air of hu- 
mility withal, that you said to yourself as you looked 
upon him — “There is a man who though in this 
world is not of it;” then you looked again and 
found yet other peculiarities to admire, and most of 
all the happy, contented smile, the ineffable smile 


274 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 


that was the light beaming from within — the light of 
a good conscience, and a heart whose affections were 
in heaven, safe from the jarring elements of passion 
and all wordliness. It was Father O’Regan, the 
piritual director of Miss Ackland and also of Rose, 
as he had been of her grandfather during all the 
latter years of his life. 

Father O’Regan was well acquainted with the 
family history of the Acklands ; he had been the 
adviser and consoler of Lydia in all her worst troubles, 
and none knew so well as he the grief that had preyed 
on her heart for so many weary years, and the self- 
reproach that embittered her life. It had been his 
constant care to combat this feeling, and to persuade 
her that she was not so much to blame as her acute 
sensibility and her tender conscience led her to sup- 
pose. 

They had been talking now on the same painful 
subject — -painful to one of the two, but nothing was 
ever painful to Father O’Regan, — at least, if anything 
did trouble him, no one ever saw it by his outward 
bearing — the tranquil smile was ever on his face, meet 
him when you might, like one whose life was half in 
heaven, and scarcely half on earth. Dear old friar ! 
humble, simple, happy, contented son of St. Francis ! 
true lov'er of evangelical poverty, how far above the 
world’s pomps and the world's .vanities, which to him 
were less than a dream — the shadow of a shade — tho 
echo of a voice — something seen fixr off as in a dream, 
with no hold on his heart, and having no other in 


THE OLD HOU8E BY THE BOYNE. 275 

tcrest for him than its power of affecting his fellow- 
creatures for good or ill ! 

“ My dear child !” said Father O’Regan, “ you 
have borne up well you have, indeed ! — our dear 
Lord has given you many graces, if it has pleased 
Him to give you many trials. Yet a little longer, 
my daughter! yet a little longer; light will break 
through the darkness, and you shall see the perfect 
day ! Courage, my child, courage !” 

“Ah! but. Father O’Regan, it is hard to have 
courage when hope is gone, and the weary heart 
fainting beneath its life-long load !” 

The Franciscan turned full on the lady; — “And 
why should hope be gone ? — isn’t God as powerful 
as ever, and as good and kind ? — if hope is a divine 
virtue, what has it to do with the poor little pitiful 
troubles of this world ? Does it not take a higher 
flight, and look forward to eternity ? Don’t talk of 
losing hope, then, or I’ll not be pleased with you ; in- 
deed I will not !” 

“ I wish, father ! I could only raise my heart as far 
above earthly things as you do, and apparently with- 
out an eftbrt. You do not know how much it costs 
me to keep my poor human heart in subjection to the 
promptings of divine grace.” 

“I do know it, my child, but I know, too, that 
your merit will be all the greater — greater far than 
mine, for instance, because I care nothing about the 
Tvorld” — the smile grew brighter on his face — “ no- 


276 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

thing at all, at all ! God pity them that do, and I 
pity them from my heart out !” 

“ You often remind me. Father O’Regan, of what 
an English poet lately wrote of the monks of old !” 

“Indeed?” said the friar with simple curiosity— 

“ and what was that, my child ?” 

“ I envy them, those monks of old, 

Their books they read, and their beads they told, 

To human softness dead and cold 
And all life’s vanity.” 

Father O’Regan scarcely ever disturbed his equa- 
nimity so far as to laugh, but he almost laughed then, 
with a sort of childish glee, — “ Just so, just so,” he 
said, nodding his head in assent to the words — 
“ only why did he say that they were ‘ to human 
softness dead and cold’ — if they were, it’s queer 
monks they’d be, an’ it’s queer monks we’d be, too, 
without ‘ human softness.’ Where would charity be, 
and where would piety be without human softness, 
for I suppose that means feeling and tender-hearted- 
ness. No ! that gentleman didn’t know either the 
monks of old, or any other monks, or he wouldn’t 
say that of them? Wasn’t the blessed and holy St. 
Francis one of the tenderest-hearted men that ever 
lived, and didn’t he leave that same love of God and 
men as a legacy to all his children in religion ? So I 
object to any one saying, my dear, that monks, old 
or new, are dead to ‘human softness,’ and do you 
never say it again, my child! Poets write a great 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


277 


des.1 of nonsense, and that’s some of it. But have 
you seen Major Melville of late ?” 

“Not since his strange colloquy with Nancy. 
None of us has seen him since. He must be a singu- 
lar man, Don’t you think so, father ?” 

“Well, then, I do, but, after all, he may have rea- 
sons for what he does that you or I doesn’t know. 
I have a great mind to go and see him some day. 
He is a Catholic, is he not? — I know his brother was.” 

“ Oh ! of course he is ; it is not very likely that he 
has fallen away from the faith, for I have heard poor 
Ralph say that their mother was very pious, and I 
know he had a great devotion to the Blessed Virgin. 
Oh father! I used to hope that she would protect 
him in his perilous profession and save him from a 
sudden death. And as soon as I heard of his having 
gone to sea that last sad time, I commended him 
specially to her safe keeping. Was it not hard to 
find that, my strongest, surest hope, so cruelly dis- 
appointed ?” 

“Well! it was, in one sense, my child, but in an- 
other sense it was not ; he might never have died in a 
better time, and you may be sure our Holy Mother 
would not have suffered him to perish, then, only 
she knew he was fit to die. Don’t be dwelling on 
these thoughts, my child, don’t now, and God bless 
you! — What can’t be cured must be endured, you 
know. So resign yourself perfectly to the holy will 
of God, and don’t be tormenting yourself with things 
BO long past. Remember my words — No one ever 


£78 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


trmted in our good Mother^ without feeling the effects 
ofit:^ 

“ I have never for a moment doubted that, fa- 
ther ! — You know the Memorare is, and has been my 
favorite prayer.” 

“Very good; keep to that, my child ! and peace 
will come down on your soul at last, and the clouds 
will vanish from your mind, like the shades of night 
before the rising sun. I’ll be going now, my dear ! 
So you’ll say good-bye for me to Rose, and be sure 
to keep up your heart. God is good, and so is our 
holv Mother — good and kind, and very powerful! 
Good-bye !” 

“ Good-bye, father I” 

Miss Ackland stood and watched the good friar 
in his descent of the long flight of steps ; she thought 
of all the long years she had known him, the admira- 
ble simplicity of heart, the tender charity and entire 
detachment from the world which distinguished him 
even amongst his brother religious, and she said to 
herself — “ Wonderful is the power of religion ! — 
What but it could form such a character as that — so 
wise, yet so simple ; so high above the world, yet so 
meek and humble of heart. Truly, such as he are ‘ the 
good odor of Christ 1’ — Happy, oh ! how happy it is 
to serve God so lovingly, and so sincerely I” 

Half unconsciously she seated herself on the bench 
near the door, and resting her head against the trel- 
lised porch, she fell into a fit of abstraction, thinking 
of nothing in particular, but of many things in 


THE OLI HOUSE BY THE BJTNE. 279 

general, with that dreamy sense of repose so dear to 
the world-weary heart, which the shades of evening 
often bring. She might have been thinking of Ralph 
Melville, for he was seldom absent from her mind, 
at least for any length of time, but whether his 
image was then before her mental vision or not, she 
suddenly beheld with the eyes of her body a figure 
which she instantly recognized as his, walk towards 
her across the esplanade as if from the top of the 
steps, pause a moment almost in front of her, at the 
distance of a few feet, fixing his eyes on her with a 
pleased expression, then walk slowly past her and 
into the house, through the hall-door which lay wide 
open, as it often did those sultry summer evenings. 

So great was the shock of this apparition, that 
Miss Ackland was struck motionless and speechless ; 
with straining eyes she watched the door, hoping 
that the welcome visitor might reappear, disembo- 
died spirit though he was ; but instead of him came 
Rose, wondering much at her aunt's delay. 

“Dear me, aunt! are you all alone?” she ex- 
claimed ; “ why I didn't think Father O’Regan was 
gone ; I saw him here only a few minutes ago ! But, 
my goodness. Aunt Lydia ! what’s the matter ? why, 
you look like death 1” 

“ Do I ?” said her aunt, partially recovering from 
her stupor. “ Well ! no wonder, — Ralph Melville 
has been here since Father O Regan left.” 

“ Raiph Melville ! good gracious, aunt, you frighten 
me to death! — don’t talk so, I beg of you !” 


280 


THE OLD HODSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ But. I tell you, Rose, he was here — I saw him as 
plain as I see you now — he crossed the esplanade, and 
stopped a moment just there” — rising and showing 
the spot — “ he looked at me with his old, old smile, 
and passed on into the house, — just a moment or two 
before you came out. Oh Rose, how happy I feel to 
have seen him— for he looked as though he were at 
rest — oh ! that I were too ! — hut I shall be, in God’s 
good time !” 

“ My dear aunt/’ said Rose soothingly, “ you must 
have imagined it ; I suppose you had been thinking 
of Captain Melville ” 

“No, I do not remember that I was, at that parti- 
cular moment ; but, Rose, there was no imagination 
in it, — I saw him distinctly, and I only wish that you 
had been with me, for then you might have seen him, 
too !” 

“ Heaven forbid !” said Rose with a shudder, and 
she cast a timid glance around through the gathering 
gloom. “ Had we not better go in, Aunt Lydia ?” 

“As you please, my dear!” And they went in. 
“ Oh I Rose,” said Miss Ackland, pausing a moment 
in the doorway ; “to think that he passed in here 
within the last five minutes I” 

“ I don’t want to think of it,” said Rose shortly ; 
“ I’d rather see the living any day than the dead. 
Come now, and I’ll play something very lively for 
you, just to put this strange fancy out of your head.” 

“No need to do that, my dear! that strange fancy, 
as you call it, is more cheering to me than your liye- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


281 


liest music; I only wish I could often have such 
fancies ! but why should I hope it ? why should the 
spirit-land be opened to me more than others ?” 

It was not Miss Ackland's intention to tell Nancy 
of what she had seen that evening, but she forgot to 
warn Rose on the subject, and before noon next day, 
Nancy was in full possession of the whole affair. 
Her mistress was no little surprised when the old 
woman went out to her in the garden where she had 
gone to gather some flowers for her table in the 
school-room, and asked her in a tone of great trepi- 
dation, if it was true that she had seen the poor dear 
Captain the evening before. 

Miss Ackland started and turned pale ; she was 
shocked to hear his name mentioned in such a way, 
and was sorry that Nancy knew of what had occurred, 
but she could not prevaricate when a plain question 
w^as put to her, and she said — “ I did, Nancy !” 

“ You did ! — The Lord save us !” 

“Would tjou be afraid to see him, Nancy?” said 
the lady in a tone of gentle reproach that brought the 
tears to Nancy’s eyes. 

“ Well ! now, don’t blame me. Miss Lyddy, darlin’ ! 
— I had a great wish for him entirely when he was 
flesh and blood like myself, but the nearest an'' dear- 
est I ever had in the world, I wouldn’t want to see 
them when they’re dead ! — it’s hard to stand the sight 
of a sperit — did you look him in the face, Miss Lyddy !” 

“ Yes, and he looked me in the face — why do you 
ask!” 


282 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Nancy groaned and shook her head, before she re- 
plied — “ Well! the Lord save you an’ every one else 
from harm, they say a body never gets the better of 
it that meets the eyes of the dead, or hears their 
voice. You didn’t spake to it, did you?’' 

“ No ! I wish I had I” 

“ Don’t wish any sich a thing, then, — don’t, an’ 
God bless you I” 

Miss Ackland smiled sadly, as she laid her hand on 
Nancy’s arm; — 

“ I thank you for your good advice, Nancy I — but 
I will give you another : — be sure you say nothing of 
this to any one 1” 

Is it me. Miss Lyddy ? — is it me tell any one that 
the Captain, rest his sowl 1 is cornin’ back again ! — 
do you think I’d make so little of him or you either, — 
an’ have people sayin’ that the house was haunted ! — 
do you think I’d be so foolish as all that comes to, 
Miss Lyddy ?” 

“ No, I scarcely thought you would ; but it is no 
hann to put you on your guard, you know 1 You’d 
better go in now to your ironing.” 

Still Nancy lingered, and at last Miss Ackland 
asked her had she anything more to say to her. 

Oh I not a thing. Miss Lyddy dear 1” She moved 
a few steps away, then turned back, and said in a 
hesitating sort of way — 

“Wouldn’t it be well to get Father O’Kegan to 
come an’ say a Mass in the house ?” 

“ What for pray ?’’ 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


283 


‘ Oh well ! it ’id do no harm anyhow, and maybe 
It ’id do good I” 

“ Go to your work, Nancy !” said Miss Ackland so 
sharply that poor Nancy’s heart sank within her ; 
the tears were in her eyes as she took her way back 
uO the kitchen, and her voice was not heard all day 
in the house. Miss Ackland spoke to her no more 
on the subject; nor to Rose, either, though it an- 
noyed her more than a little to see that both were 
more timid than usual in moving around the house 
after nightfall, and could scarcely be got to go out 
of doors alone. For herself, she had grown fond of 
walking at night in the garden, or on the esplanade, 
especially when the moon shed her mild rays over 
the earth, and the world lay still in the hush of night 
beneath the glittering stars. But Ralph Melville 
came not again ; days and weeks passed away ; Au- 
gust glided into September, and the beautiful harvest 
moon showed her pale crescent in the blue sky of 
evening ; bnt in vain did Lydia Ackland keep her 
lone watch “beneath the stars.” Ralph Melville’s 
ghost did not revisit the glimpses of the moon, and 
Nancy felt quite convinced that their prayers had 
won for his troubled spirit peace eternal. “Well, 
now. Miss Rosy !” she would say to Rose, in confi- 
dence, when the twain were stealthily exchanging 
their fears and hopes touching the ghost, “I’m in 
great hopes that he’s in a fair way now of gettin’ to 
rest ; how could he miss of it, the dear gentleman ! 
an’ all the prayers I say for him, not to say you an’ 


284 


THE OLD HOUSE THE BCYNE. 


Miss Lyddy ? Please God, he’ll never trouble us any 
more !” 

“ I’m sure I hope so, Nancy !” would Rose reply 
and there the whispered consultation would end for 
that time, to be renewed at the first opportunity. It 
was, however, a continual source of trouble and of 
serious apprehension to Nancy that a Mass had not 
been said in the house, and she was free to give her 
opinion (only to Rose, of course,) that “ there was 
something cornin’ over Miss Lyddy, God help her ! 
when she wouldn’t so much as hear to havin’ Father 
O’Regan say Mass in the house. If only herself was 
in it, a body mightn’t wonder so much, but she ought 
to remember that there was others in it that didn’t 
want to see a sperit in any shape or form.’ 



CHAPTER XVI. 


A MONTH or so after Giacomo’s departure, the Bro- 
digans, father and daughters, came one evening to 
Miss Ackland’s, the father, as usual, with the kind in- 
tention of cheering the aunt and niece in the solitude 
from which he and his amiable wife could not draw 
them so often as they wished, the daughters with a 
little private object of their own which the reader 
will presently ascertain. There was music, as usual, 
and Rose sang at her aunt’s request, with her guitar, 
a pretty ballad just then new and popular — long since 
passed into the realm of things forgotten, beginning 
thus — 

“ Do you ever think of me, love, 

Do you ever think of me, 

When I’m far away from thee, love, 

With my bark upon the sea I 
My thoughts are ever turning 
To thee where’er I roam. 

And my heart is ever yearning 
For the quiet scenes of home.” 

“ How very sweet !” lisped Jane Brodigan in her 
sentimental way, “ and how expressively you do sing 
it, Rose ! — Talking of being ‘ far away,’ have you 
heard. Miss Ackland, that our handsome Leghorner 
has been taking a wife to himself?” 


286 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Why no ! — can it be possible ?” 

“ Why should it not be possible, my dear Miss 
Ackland ?” said Ann, with somewhat more than her 
wonted stiffness; “ it is very natural, I presume, that 
Signor Giacomo Malvili would marry one time or 
another, — most young men do.” 

“ Yes, but somehow I thought — I thought he had 
no idea of being married so soon — and if it were sc 
I thought he would let me know of it.” 

“ Oh ! of course, you would expect that,” said Miss 
Brodigan, in a somewhat softer tone ; she and every 
one else liked Miss Ackland, even those who could 
not fully appreciate her ; “ considering your kindness 
to him, — but people are not always as grateful as they 
should be.” 

“ y ery true, my dear ! but I cannot believe that 
Giacomo is one of those who are likely to forget 
friends or friendship.” 

“ Believe what you may,” said Ann, drawing her- 
self up, “ I have reason to think that the report is 
true.” 

“ But how did you come to hear of it, Ann ?” said 
her father, who had heard the news with much sur- 
prise. 

“ That is of no importance, father ! We have it 
on good authority. Haven't we, Jane ?” 

“ Oh ! decidedly, the very best and most reliable. 
But, my dear Rose ! how very silent you are. You 
do not seem at all surprised.” 

Rose had gone to the piano, and was busily en* 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


287 


gaged looking over her music for a piece she wanted. 
She answered without interrupting her employment — 
“ Surprised ! why should I be surprised ? — As if it 
was any wonder to hear of a wedding 1 I thought 
I should hear of one soon ! Dear me ! where can 
that Overture to Tancredi be ‘t Aunt ! did you see 
it lately ?” 

“No, my dear! I have not been arranging the 
music for some days. But, my dear Miss Brodigan ! 
do you think it is really true that Giacomo is mar- 
ried 

“ I really cannot say, Miss Ackland 1 — I can only 
repeat that we have the news from good authority.” 

“ Who is that, Ann?” said her father. 

“ Tom Lanigan, father ! — you know he wouldn’t be 
likely to tell a falsehood.” 

“ I know that, but how did he hear it ? Who told 
him ?’ 

“ Well! I really didn’t ask — only he had reason to 
think it was true, I know he wouldn’t repeat it.” 

“ It is very strange,” said Miss Ackland, in a sort 
of soliloquizing tone; “ it was one of the last things 
I should have expected to hear.” 

“ Oh ! here is TancrediJ" said Rose, “ and, Mr. 
Brodigan, here is another favorite of yours, ‘ Miss 
Forbes’ Farewell to Banff,’ with variations. I will 
play that first.” And she took her seat at the piano. 

“ Don’t you want light ?” said Ann Brodigan, tak- 
ing a girandole from the mantcl-piece, and placing it 
on the piano, looking full in Rose’s face as she did so. 


288 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

“ Thank you, Ann,” said Rose very quietly, “ you 
are always so very considerate.” 

“ Isn’t the light too strong for you, Rose ? You 
look as though you had a head-ache.” 

“ Oh ! dear me, no ! I have no head-ache. Thank 
you, that will do 1” 

“ Don’t you want me to turn over the leaves ?” 

“ It is quite unnecessary, I know the piece so well.” 

Ann Brodigan resumed her seat, glancing at her 
sister with an expression that seemed to say — “ I 
really can’t understand her. Can you ?” 

When Rose had finished, Mr. Brodigan said, rising 
— “ Come, girls, let us be ofi: Your mother will be 
alone, for the young ones are all a-bed by this time.” 
It was early to leave, but the young ladies made no 
objection, so they all bade good night and retired. 

When they were gone, Miss Ackland and Rose sat 
together for a few moments in silence ; by some im- 
pulse perhaps scarcely known to herself. Rose moved 
nearer to her aunt and looked inquiringly in her face. 
Miss Ackland laid her hand on her head and smiled 
in her gentle, quiet way, a little abstractedly. Rose 
thought. 

“ Aunt !” said Rose at length, “ do you think Sig- 
nor Giacomo is really married ?” 

“ He may be, Rose! — But if so, it is not what I 
would expect. I think he would let us know if any 
such thing were in contemplation.” 

Perhaps yes, — perhaps no,” said Rose carelessly 
--“how much longer do you intend to sit up. Aunt 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


289 


Lydia ? — I feel tired and drowsy — I think I will go to 
bed.” 

“Very well, Rose! ring for Nancy, and we will 
get our prayers said, then you can go.” 

When the prayers were over. Miss Ackland said 
she would read a while, before going up stairs, so Rose 
took her night-light and left the room. Closing the 
parlor door after her, she went softly to the kitchen, 
and asked Nancy if she was very much hurried just 
then. 

“ Well no I do you want me to do anything. Miss 
Rosey ?” 

“ Only to come up and sit with me,” said Rose 
almost in a whisper; “ my aunt is not coming up just 
yet, and I don’t like to be up there all alone. You 
know that’s the room Captain Melville used to sleep 
in, any time he was here overnight.” 

“ I know, dear 1 I know,” and Nancy nodded and 
1 joked solemn; “I don’t care to go into that room 
myself after nightfall. I’ll go with you in a minute, 
when I fasten the doors and windows down here.” 

So the doors and windows being made fast, the 
two stole past the parlor door and up stairs. Nancy 
squatted herself on the carpet while her young lady pre- 
p ired for bed, talking the while of all the pleasant days 
she used to have when the old house was blithe and 
merry, and the dead alive, and the careworn and sor- 
rowful young and gay. But she carefully avoided 
mentioning one name^ and when she had even the 
most distant allusion to make to him who had borne 


290 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


it, Rose stopped her with a terrified “ Hush !” and 
both looked fearfully round into those corners of the 
large room where the light did not fully penetrate. 
It might have been expected that Rose would have 
told her faithful old con fidant of the news Miss Brod- 
igan had brought, but for once she kept something to 
herself, and said not a word about it, probably for- 
getting it altogether in the engrossing interest with 
which she listened to Haney’s reminiscences of old- 
time life in the old house. 

A door was heard closing down stairs, and Rose who 
was now in bed, made a sign for Haney to hurry 
away; Haney was not slow in obeying, both hav- 
ing an instinctive fear of Miss Ackland’s noticing 
their newly-awakened fears concerning the ghost. 
But Misi Ackland, coming up stairs at the time, saw 
Haney stealing along the corridor, though Haney did 
not see her, and guessing at once how matters stood, 
she could not help laughing, though her heart was 
heavy Avith the thoughts that ever weighed on her 
mind when alone. 

Hext day was Saturday, and wdien, at one o’clock, 
the school was dismissed. Miss Ackland proposed to 
Rose that they should walk down to see Mabel, wdiom 
they had not seen for some w^eeks. They sat long 
with the old woman, whom they found, as they often 
did, all alone in the cottage ; she had strange news 
for them — Major Mellville had been to visit her, a 
day or two before, and had given her a bright gold 
sovereign, w'hieh she showed with a sort of hesita* 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


291 


tion, as though she were half afraid that, like the fairy 
gifts of her own stories, it might turn into some 
meaner substance for the showing. But the gold 
was “ good red gold,” and proof against all chances, 
and there was no getting over so substantial a proof 
that Major Melville had really found old Mabel out, 
though how he did so, or from what motive, even 
Miss Ackland’s keen wits could not imagine. 

Like one in a dream, she rose and left the cottage, 
barely bidding Mabel good-bye, and Rose followed 
quickly, telling the old woman that they would soon 
come again. When they had walked a little way, 
Miss Ackland said to Rose : 

“What can this mean ? I cannot understand it. 
How came Guy to know anything of Mabel, and why 
should he go to see her ?” 

“ It is very odd, Aunt Lydia !” said Rose with a 
more thoughtful air than usual ; “ he is certainly a 
strange man, though he does not look so,” she added 
as if to herself. Then both were silent* 

It was one of those rich mellow evenings which 
the autumn only brings, when the whole earth and 
the boundless fields of air are a-glow with gold and 
crimson, and nor cloud nor cloudlet skims the sur- 
face of heaven’s bright glorious sea. The Boyne 
rippled past with a gentle tremulous motion, 

“ The waters calm reflecting bright, 

The golden glory of the light,” 

and the fair scene around was a picture of tranquil 
beauty ; but, each absorbed in her own thoughts, the 


292 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


aunt and niece little heeded the smile that nature 
wore, and few words passed between them till they 
came to their own gate, when both screamed with 
surprise; it was opened by Giacomo, who had evi- 
dently been awaiting their coming. 

“ Why, Giacomo, is it, can it be possible ?” cried 
Miss Ackland, as she warmly shook him by the hand. 

“Very possible, indeed. Miss Ackland ; you see I 
am back sooner than I expected. ’ 

“ Why did you come ? ’ said Rose abruptly and 
carelessly, as though little heeding what she said. 
She had stumbled going up the first steps, and Gia- 
como offered his arm, which she, however, declined 
with a grave bow. 

Giacomo smiled at the question ; it was so charac- 
teristic : “ An event of some importance to myself 
and one other, at least, has given me an opportunity 
that I did not dare to expect.” 

“ Oh ! indeed ?” said Rose quickly ; “ I guessed as 
much.” 

“ You did ; and pray what did you guess ?” 

Before Rose could answer her aunt spoke — “ So it 
is true, then, what we heard ?” 

“ That I cannot tell you, my dear Miss Ackland, 
till you have told me what it was that you heard.” 

They had reached the top of the steps, and the 
word on Miss Ackland’s lips was changed into an 
exclamation of surprise. A strain of music came 
from the house, through the open windows of the 
front parlor — a female voice low and sweet singing 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 293 

to the tinkling sound of the guitar ; both the ladies 
stopped short and looked at each other in amaze- 
ment — 

“ She is here, then ?” said Rose, turning full on 
Giacomo. 

“ Who is here ?” 

“ Your wife.” 

“ My wife !” he repeated, with a start of surprise ; 
he paused a moment, then said laughing, “ Oh ! of 
course ! — you wouldn’t have me come without her, 
would you ?” 

The hall-door was open, and Miss Ackland was 
already at the parlor door which she hastily threw 
open, and stood looking as if spell-bound at a slight, 
delicate-looking, and very lovely girl who laid down 
the guitar and arose to meet her. 

“ Miss Ackland !” said a gentle voice with a strong 
foreign accent, and the young lady advanced like one 
who was sure of a cordial greeting. 

But Miss Ackland spoke not ; she stood with her 
eyes fixed on the fair girl’s face, her whole frame 
trembling, and her pale cheek paler still. When 
Giacomo came near where she stood, she caught him 
by the arm and hoarsely whispered — “ Who is she ?” 

“ His wife !” said Rose, making her way into the 
*oom. 

** My sister !” said Giacomo, with a proud, fond 
look at the graceful, fawn-like creature who stood 
waiting in her gentle beauty for the embrace of her 
brother’s friend. 


294 


THE OLD UOUSE BY TUB jSOVNB. 


“ Your sister ! — Maddalena ?” 

“Yes, Maddalena! — my own, my only sister 
No mother ever welcomed a long-absent child to 
her bosom more tenderly than Miss Ackland did 
that fair and gentle girl, to whom her innermost 
heart was at once thrown open, and for life ; again 
and again she pressed her to her heart, and kissed 
her white forehead with all the warmth of affection. 
Rose, smiling through the tears of joy that filled her 
eyes, reminded her aunt that it was her turn then, 
and half reluctantly, as it seemed. Miss Ackland re- 
signed Maddalena to her sisterly embrace, whilst 
Giacomo walked to the window to hide his emotion. 

“ Dear me I” said Rose, as she wiped away her 
tears, “ who’d have thought it ? — oh ! you naughty, 
naughty Signor I” shaking her little hand at Giacomo, 
“ how dare you play such a trick on us ?’’ 

“Trick! what trick did I play? Did I tell you I 
was married, or that Maddalena was my wife ?’ 

“Well! no, I believe you did not — but then you 
allowed us t > think so.” 

“ I knew of old that there would be little use in 
trying to restrain your thoughts, Miss Rose I” 

“ Or my tongue, either, I suppose ycu would say ! 
How very polite your brother is. Signora Maddalena I” 
“ Polite ! oh yes, Giacomo is very polite,” and tho 
sister smiled fondly on her brother; she took Rose’s 
compliment in good faith. 

Miss Ackland seemed scarcely conscious of what 
was passing ; she was watching Maddalena with an 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 295 

expression of eager curiosity on her calm face; at 
length she asked Giacomo who his sister was like. 

“ I believe she resembles my father,” he replied, 
“ as I do my mother. Maddalena has my father’s 
complexion, — a very fair one, as you may perceive, 
and very uncommon amongst our country people.” 

“ Then your father must be handsome ?” said Rose, 
at which Giacomo smiled, and Maddalena eagerly 
replied in her sweet, simple, earnest way — 

“ Oh yes ! my father is handsome, very, very hand- 
some.” 

“ So you say, mia caraj"' said Giacomo smiling, then 
turning to Miss Ackland he added, “ you see my 
little sister has an extraordinary good opinion of her 
father and brother ! — I believe she thinks nobody 
ever had such a father and brother as she has.” 

“ Dear child !” said Miss Ackland, smoothing down 
the girl’s fair tresses. 

“ But you don’t ask me,” said Giacomo, “ why Mad- 
dalena came?” 

‘‘ No,” said Miss Ackland, “ it is sufficient for us 
to know that she is here.” 

“Yes, but you ought to know why she came. 
My father is anxious that she should spend some 
time with you, as a pupil, my dear Miss Ackland ! — 
he wishes her to prosecute her English studies, in 
which she is rather backward. She is to speak, or 
write nothing but English. Will you take her as a 
boarder and a pupil?” 

“ As a friend, as a daughter — as your sister, Gia- 


29G 


THE OLD HOUSE BY I'HE BOYNE. 


como !” And again Miss Ackland kissed Madda* 
lena’s fair brow, and \velcomed her to Drogheda, 
apologizing for not having done so before. 

“And now, Rose,” said she, “ you will take Mad- 
dalena up stairs ; she can share your room for the 
present, as she might be lonely in a strange house, 
and I will resign you to her.” 

“The very thing,” said Rose joyfully; “come 
along Maddalena ! Oh ! how happy I am to have a 
companion of my own age !” she added as they 
went up stairs arm in arm. “ Do you know, Mad- 
aalena, I never had one before.” 

“ Nor I, any more,” said Maddalena in her imper- 
fect English ; “ ever since my mother is dead, I have 
only my father and Giacomo for company.” 

“ Oh ! I was not so bad as that — my mother died, 
it is true, when I was very young, but I have always 
had my dear aunt ; still I have often wished for a 
younger and gayer companion, for Aunt Lydia is, at 
times, in poor spirits, and then I find it very dull in 
this old house of ours.” 

“ Oh ! it is a dear old house ; I like it before I see 
it, because my brother, he like it, oh ! very much.” 

“ Indeed ?” 

“Yes, indeed; better than our own at home, I 
think; he wanted so much to come back, but he 
would not ask my father ; and he was glad, so glad 
I cannot tell you when my father he tell him tc cake 
me here.” 

“ And were you glad ?” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


297 


“ Yes, I was glad, too ; I wanted so much to see 
Miss Ackland, my brother’s Miss Ackland — and you, 
too, Signora Rosa !” 

“ Don’t call me Signora — call me Rose — you see I 
call you Maddalena.” 

“Very well! I will do it as you say. I wanted 
much, very much, to see you and Miss Ackland — • 
and old Nancy. I wanted to see your cat, too — 
your cat Tabby, you know — ^but Giacomo told me 
-she was dead, poor cat 1 And old Nancy, when I 
speak of her, she nearly cry, before you came in.” 

In such a pleasant chat the girls passed the time, 
sitting by a window, till Miss Ackland came up to 
say that tea was ready, and they all three went down 
together. How pleasant it was when they took their 
seats around the table in the early twilight of Sep- 
tember’s last days, Maddalena at Miss Ackland ’s 
right hand, opposite Rose and Giacomo for the 
fourth at the small square table, all around, so neat, 
so cozy^ as Rose said, and the evening star shedding 
its faint silvery light into the apartment, through an 
opening in the purple clouds that were draping the 
western sky in regal splendor. 

“ What a beautiful star !” said Giacomo, pointing 
to the fair planet. 

“ Perhaps our dear father sees it now, Giacomo ?’* 
asked his sister. “ I am sorry he is all alone.” 

“ You are a good girl, Maddalena I” said Miss 
Ackland, who followed with increasing interest the 
words and ways of her interesting visitor. “ I see 


298 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

you are not disposed to forget the absent. DonH 
you think, Giacomo, that your father will miss Mad- 
dalena very much ?” 

“ Oh ! I dare say he will, hut only for a ittle while ; 
I am not sure that he would miss any one for very 
long.” 

“ Oh ! Giacomo, how can you say so ?” cried his 
sister, her delicate cheek all a-glow ; “ that is not right. 
My father will be sad, very sad for you and me. I 
know he will.” 

“ So much the worse for him, then, mia cara^"* said 
Giacomo carelessly, as he finished his tea. “ Miss 
Ackland, shall we not go out on the esplanade ? it is 
a pity to be in-doors such a lovely evening.’* 

The proposal was agreeable to all, but as the even- 
ing was chill Rose ran up stairs to fetch some muf- 
fling ; Nancy came in just then to remove the tea- 
things, and when her eyes fell on the Italian girl whom 
she had only seen before with her bonnet on and her 
back to the light — she started, looked at Miss Ack- 
land, and came near dropping the tray she had lifted 
from the table. 

“ What's the matter, Nancy ?” inquired Giacomo, 
noticing her agitation. 

“ Oh ! nothing,” said Miss Ackland, endeavoring to 
catch her eye ; “ she is subject to fics of nervous ex- 
citement.” 

“ Fits, Miss Lyddy ! is it me subject to fits ?” said 
the old woman somewhat testily ; “ no, nor the sorra 
fit ever I was subject to. It’s the likeness I see in 


THE OLD nOUSE BY TUE BOYNE. 


299 


that young lady — Master Jacomy’s sister there, that 
put me a little through-other.* Fits, indeed ?” 

“ Why, who is she like ?” said Giacomo. 

“ Nancy,” said Miss Ackland, “ you are forgetting 
what you came in for. Remove the tea-things now, 
and you can talk of this again.” 

“ I will, Miss Lyddy !” but turning her eyes again on 
Maddalena, who was now smiling at the old woman’s 
earnestness, “it’s mighty quare, so it is, — I never 
seen two faces more like one another ! sure it’s his 
own smile she has — I’d know it if I seen her in Amer- 
ica beyant!” 

Rose came in with the shawls and bonnets, and 
Nancy went out with her tray. Miss Ackland took 
occasion to glide into the kitchen on her way out, and 
whispered to Nancy— “ What put it in your head to 
talk so ? Let us hear no more of that likeness, for 
you only imagine it, after all.” 

“ And what harm is it to spake of it. Miss Lyddy ?” 
said Nancy, still on her mettle ; “ I don’t see what 
harm there’s in it, that a body need talk of one havin 
fits, — a thing that no one belongin’ to me ever had— 
no, not one of my breed, seed, or generation ever had 
a fit, that ever I hard tell of As for the young lady, 
she is like Captain Melville, and that’s all about it !” 

“ I know she is, but you know I do not like to 
have his name brought in, at all, amongst people that 
never knew him. So you will remember what I tell 
you. As for the fits, you entirely mistook my mean- 

A-uglicd ! — “ made me a liitle confused.’* 


300 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

ing— I will tell you another time what 1 meant.” She 
hurried away without waiting for an answer. 

When Miss Ackland reached the esplanade, Rose 
was singing — 

“ ’Tis the first star of evening, 

So lovely and clear — 

Hasten home from the mountains, 

My own muleteer ! 

“ At the door of thy cottage, 

O’erhung by the grove. 

Is waiting to meet thee 
The bride of thy love. 

“ Yes, my fond heart expects thee, 

It wishes thee here, 

Hasten home from the mountains, 

My own muleteer ! 

“ *Tis his form on Ihe mountain, 

His loved voice I hr ar, 

Welcome home, fondly welcome, 

My own muleteer !” 

She was sitting near the top of the steps, with 
Maddalena by her side, and on the next step above 
them sat Giacomo, listening to the song, his eyes 
fixed dreamily on the silvery star that now shone out 
from the deep blue sky of night like a diamond on 
the brow of some dark eastern queen. The group 
was a fine one, and Miss Ackland stopped at a little 
distance to contemplate the picture before she ad- 
vanced, thinking the while of just such scenes in the 
long-past years when hope was fresh and life was 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


301 


young, and the future bright as summer skies at 
even. Strange to herself it was that even then her 
eyes rested longest on Maddalena where she sat in 
the bright star-light with her arm resting on Rose’s 
shoulder, and the delicate outline of her face dimly 
seen in profile. 

Next day, after school, Rose Ackland went to pay 
a visit to her friends, the Brodigans, while her aunt 
took Maddalena for a walk by the river side. Gia- 
como had business to transact during the afternoon, 
but had promised to come in the evening, so Rose 
went to ask the Brodigans to spend the evening, in 
order to treat them to a surprise. They had not 
heard of Giacomo’s arrival, and Rose took good care 
that they should not hear it from her. ■ 

It was amusing, therefore, to see the astonishment 
of the sisters, in particular, when, on entering Miss 
Ackland’s parlor, the first they saw was Giacomo. 

“ Why, Signor ! you here ? — is it possible ?” cried 
Ann. 

“Dear me! I am so surprised!” lisped Jane. 
“Who in the world would have thought to see you 
back so soon ?” 

“ Upon my word, I'm delighted to see you 1 — 
Come on your wedding-tour, eh ?” was Mr. Brodi- 
g.:n's hearty salutation. 

“ Not exactly,” said Giacomo laughing ; “ ladies !” 
to the Misses Brodigan, “ permit me to introduce my 
sister !” he saw that the shrinking girl was an object 
of great curiosity to the sisters. 


302 


THK OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Your sister !” exclaimed Ann and Jane together; 
it alniost seemed as though they were disappointed. 

Then you are not married after all ?” 

“Not that I know of, although it really does ap- 
pear as if some one here had been marrying me 
without my knowledge or consent.” 

“ Quite a coincidence !” said Mr. Brodigan, rubbing 
his hands ; he rather enjoyed the bewilderment of 
his daughters, that was plain. 

“ As how, Mr. Brodigan?” said Giacomo. 

“ Why, your sister coming back with you at this 
particular time, when people here would all have it 
that you were married.” 

“ Not all the people here, Mr. Brodigan,” said Miss 
Ackland smiling — “ I for one did not believe it.” 

“ Did you believe it ?” said Giacomo in an under- 
tone to Rose. 

“ Of course — why should I not ? — Ann Brodigan 
told it as a fact.” 

“ And you believed her ?” 

“ I told you, yes! Why do you ask ?” 

“ Because I gave you credit for more penetration.’* 

“Well! don’t give me credit for anything in 
future.” 

Harry Cusack just then made his appearance, 
whereupon the sisters brightened up, and the conver- 
lation became general. 



CHAPTER XVII. 


It was night, an Italian night, and the air was 
heavy with the rich perfumes of southern gardens in 
their autumnal bloom; through the open windows of 
a first floor apartment in Leghorn the breath of the 
myrtle and the acacia was wafted in from the garden 
on which the room opened by a glass door in the 
centre, and the light branches of the overhanging 
creepers were traced in shadowy outlines on the tes- 
selated floor ; the waning moon was declining in the 
heavens, and her gentle light streamed in with mellow 
radiance, full, bright and yellow, for it was the Har- 
vest Moon. 

A solitary watcher was in the room, reading at a 
table by the flickering light of a lamp. One who has 
seen him before can easily recognize him again ; it is 
Signor Malvili, the father of Giacomo and Madda- 
lena, now alone in the solitude of his quiet dwelling. 
The night wore on and still he read, absorbed, it 
would seem, in the volume before him, old Froissart’s 
delightful “ Chronicles.” 

At length he closed the book, and looking at his 
watch, started to find that the night was already far 
spent ; he arose, went to the door and stood awhile 
looking out on the trees and the flowers of his 


304 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


garden, and the grass-grown alleys half seen, half hid 
in the yellow light. He looked up to the moonlit 
sky and 

“ That spangled heavens, a shining frama” 
which, to all the generations of men, 

“ Their Great Original proclaim.” 

His heart was uplifted to the Author of creation; he 
was well accustom’d to “look thro’ Nature, up to 
nature’s God,” for he had studied that noble science in 
a noble school; he had “ been down to the sea in ships, 
and had seen the wonders of the Lord on the great 
deepi” Then he thought of times long past when he 
was wont to exchange his thoughts and feelings with 
one whom he loved, and by whom he thought him- 
self beloved. He thought of the rude shock that had 
dispelled his youth’s bright dreams, and left his life 
to the dull routine of duty. Throwing himself on a 
sofa, he covered his eyes with his hands and lay 
amid the shadows of the past, unconscious of 
the flight of time, till warned by the clock 
striking the third hour of morning, when he slowly 
arose, and muttering to himself— “ Can it be true 
what they tell me ? shall I not have parted with my 
darling child in vain ? God knows ! God only knows !’* 
he lit his night-lamp which stood on a small table at 
the farther end of the room, and after fastening the 
door and the windows, extinguished the lamp on the 
centre-table and went up stairs. There was a beauti- 
ful Madonna in his chamber, a small cabinet picture 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


306 


painted by some old master ; it might have been the 
blessed Fra Angelico himself, so ineffable, so divine 
was the expression, or Raffaelo, in the graceful air 
of the head, the pose^ as painters are wont to term 
it. It was before this exquisite picture of Our Lady 
that Signor Malvili usually said his night and morn- 
ing prayers, and if that image could have spoken it 
could have told the story of his life for many a year 
past. When he knelt before it that night, or rather 
morning, in the dimly lighted room, it seemed to him 
as though the gracious countenance wore a sweeter 
smile even than usual, and a tenderer look of maternal 
love and pity l)eamed from the sad, soft eyes. A 
feeling of peace, that was almost joy, took possession 
of the soul of that pilgrim of life, who knelt so 
lovingly, so trustingly there, and from that hour, he 
felt no more as he had felt, the bitterness was gone, 
and the sweetness of hope came again, not as of old, 
but yet soothing and encouraging to the heart that 
had long ceased to look forward to aught that was of 
earth. His dreams that night were pleasant ; Mad- 
dalena was there, and Giacomo, and one other long 
lost and dead to him, and all were glad and happy 
wandering together in some far bright land of dreams, 
where music of celestial sweetness floated round, and 
light and joy and beauty seemed to reign forever. 

A few more lonely days passed slowly by, made 
duUer and sadder in the house by the sullen looks of 
old Hannetta, who could not forgive her master for 
sending her young mistress so far away from home ; 


306 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

bluff Paolo himself looked disconsolate, and little 
Giulia smiled no more ; the sunshine appeared to have 
vanished from every heart. Maddalena’s bird sat all 
day long motionless in his cage, tuneful now no lon- 
ger, and the very cat had ceased to purr ; the house 
was silent as the grave. 

But the master of the house was neither so sad 
nor gloomy as usual, and he smiled often to himself, 
thinking how bright and joyous all would be again 
when his Maddalena came home, and Giacomo, — 
and — who else ? — he asked himself, then smiled 
again, and went on his way, almost rejoicing. For 
BO lonely a man, and one outwardly so calm and cold, 
he enjoyed much of the sunshine of the heart at that 
particular time, though why it was so, was not very 
clear to himself. 

One day Signor Malvili received a letter from Gia- 
como inclosing one from Maddalena ; the latter drew 
tears from his eyes, though little given was he to the 
melting mood. Maddalena’s letter, which was in 
Italian, ran as follows : 

“My Dearest Father: — I cannot tell you how 
sorry I am to be away so very far from you ; I hope 
you are not so sorry for your poor Maddalena’s ab- 
sence as she is for yours. But I am glad to be here, 
if you were only with me, for I do so love Giacomo’s 
Miss Ackland, and I like Miss Rose very much, 
though not half so well as I do her aunt. Oh ! if you 
only knew Miss Ackland ! I am sure you would love 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


307 


her dearly ; she is so sweet to look at, and I love to 
hear her speak. I never saw any one like her, — not 
for that she is so handsome, — but so gentle and so 
graceful. I fancy she is like some pictures I have 
seen of our sweet Madonna. Oh ! I wish you knew 
her ! Could you not come and see us while I am 
here ? I should like you to see the old house, and 
the garden, and everything ; it is so nice, and quiet, 
with such an old-fashioned look all about it. Do try 
and come ! I cannot be happy when I think that I 
shall not see my dearest father for a long time. 

“ Ever your own 

“ Maddalena.” 

The father, much affected, laid down the letter, 
and, resting his head on his hand, remained awhile in 
deep thought, his eyes fixed on vacancy ; at length he 
started, and took up Giacomo's letter, which was writ- 
ten in English. He had not read far when he began 
to laugh, and laughed as he had not laughed for many 
a long year ; this was the passage of the letter that 
excited his risible faculties : 

“ Our little Maddalena is delighted with the old 
house, but she would not be quite so taken, with it 
did she know what I know about it, or rather what 
old Haney knows. It appears the house is haunted 
by the ghost of a certain Captain Melville who used 
to be a visitor here a very long time ago, and who 
was actually seen by Miss Ackland not many weeks 
since * so the old woman told me in confidence, and 


308 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


she further informed me that ‘ Miss Rosey’ is Just as 
much afraid as she is herself, only they clusrCt let on 
to Miss Lyddyl As yet Maddalena is not in the 
secret, as Nancy says ‘the poor thing’ would he 
frightened out of her wits if she only knew it.” 

When Signor Malvili having enjoyed his laugh, 
had regained his usual composure, he glanced once 
more over the letter, and he repeated to himself — 
“ They hide their fears from her, though it was she 
who saw the — the ghost ; then she does not fear the 
apparition.” There was a subdued tenderness in his 
tone, and a soft emotion in his eyes, that seemed 
foreign to his character, and indicated a new train 
of thought ; he arose and made several turns to and 
fro across the room — stopped at the window and 
looked out, though little heeding, it would seem, 
what was passing in the street below; neither did 
the beauty of the bi-ight autumnal day arrest his eye ; 
his thoughts were far distant, and there was a strange 
trouble in his look and on his face that grew into a 
calm and settled determination ; he smiled, then, and 
drew himself up as one who had gained a victory 
over some ancient enemy within himself, or had cast 
off a weary load that for long had crushed the heart 
within him. He took another letter from his pocket, 
one he had received some days before, and he said 
half aloud as his eye ran over the lines: 

“How much of his boyish temperament still re- 
mains, and how many of bis boyish peculiarities! 
A.nd I shall see him, too ! I wonder what he looks 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


309 


like now ! How my heart swells at the thought of 
seeing them all once again !” Then he added, after 
a pause — “ Whoever told me this a year ago, how 1 
would have scouted the idea !” 

The evening of that day came on gray and gusty, 
such as we often see in the early autumn, when “ the 
melancholy days” are drawing near, and the year is 
passing into the sear and yellow leaf. Signor Malvili 
loved such cloudy skies, such boisterous weather, bet- 
ter than the brightness of summer or the fair promise 
of spring, for he had been a sailor in his youth, and 
the sailor’s instincts were yet strong within him. He 
loved to wander on the shore when the winds were 
c^road, and the billows surged and heaved, and the 
curlew shrieked among the rocks ; such an evening 
was that which followed the receipt of those let- 
ters, and he strolled down to the beach an hour or so 
before sundown, to enjoy the wild commotion of the 
elements, and admire the dread Omnipotence of Him 
who commands both wind and wave. Walking slowly 
along the beach, the waves at times almost wash- 
ing his feet, he pondered over the years of his life, 
the various phases through which that life had passed, 
and the causes that had produced the most import- 
ant results. One scene of the past was before him, 
as it often was ; the recollection of it had many a time 
raised a tumult in his soul that only the voice of reli- 
gion could calm, and that only after a hard struggle. 
jSl ow in silence and in solitude, with only the voice 
of winds and w'atcrs in his ear, and the lowering 


310 


THE OLD UOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


sky and the angry sea before him, the salutary 
thoughts, the gentler emotions of the morning came 
back again, and he asked himself “ What am I that 
I should be so hard, so unforgiving? Have I not 

borne what ? oh ! never hatred — but anger ^ long 

enough ? and now when I have reason to think that 
I was mistaken, after all, w'hy not acknowledge my 
fault, and know again the calm delight of friendship 
—friendship '^ — he repeated, and he smiled; “how 
oddly the word sounds in that connection. Friend* 
ship ! — ay ! what more could I expect ? Even that 
would be far beyond my deserts. Then suppose not 
even that were given me — suppose I were regarded 
still as worse than a stranger, and that the last spark 
of affection had died out in that heart, if it ever 
really loved me, as I once dared to hope — suppose 
my reappearance should only bring back unpleasant 
recollections, and disturb the even tenor of a calm 
and tranquil life — ah ! if it proved so, how could I 
bear it ? — how could I forgive myself for the folly of 
which I had been guilty? No! I will not do it — I 
will not run the risk of failure, where failure were so 
destructive of all my earthly peace, and probably the 
peace and happiness of my children. I am quiet 
now, if not happy, and I will endeavor to rest 
content.” 

At that moment, a ray of sunshine broke through 
the clouds westward, and, as if by magic, the sea was 
covered with a golden glory, the tall, bare masts of 
the ships in harbor, and their sailless rigging were 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


311 


tmted with the richest crimson, and the city itself 
was all a-glow with the flush of sunset. “ Ha !” said 
Malvili, still soliloquizing, “ Heaven itself clears up 
my doubts — I will take that splendid flash of sunlight 
as a favorable augury, and I will hope all things — all 1 
even my life may have its flash of sunlight before its 
evening darkens into the night of age. Courage, 
mon cceur, courage V"* The sunset was still gilding 
the dome of the Turkish mosque and all its taper 
minarets, and resting lovingly on the spires of the 
Christian temples, when the lonely watcher by the 
sea turned his steps homewards, a new hope, a new 
energy suddenly alive within him, sending the life- 
blood quicker through his veins, and flushing his 
cheek again with the long-vanished hues of youth. 
The darkness and the storm were over. 

* * * ;(t • # 

That night old Haney had been entertaining the 
young people in the old house by the Boyne with 
some of her old-time stories; to Maddalena they 
were all new, and Maddalena, simple child, loving 
the marvellous, was more than all delighted. Then 
for the first time, she heard of the fairies, their 
gay revels on the velvet sward, their moonlight 
rides and the gallant show they make winding on 
their way through the forest glades, and by the sil- 
very streams, and along the green hill-sides of that 
old land of beauty and romance, the home of the 
Western Gael. Of the tricks they love to play on 
mortals, sometimes in sport, sometimes in malice, and 


S12 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


the wonders of their enchanted halls at times revealed 
to mortal ken. Of divers mid wives and nurses Mad* 
dalena heard with amazement, who had been carried 
off bodily to minister in their respective capacities to 
the wives and children of fairy-land. This was the 
hardest, trial of all to Maddalena’s credulity, but 
Nancy assured her that “the good people” did re- 
quire midwives and nurses, for had not such and such 
a one of her acquaintance been “ taken away” for the 
very purpose, and the Italian girl was fain to believe 
her, wondering much the while how such things 
could be. Of the leprachaun and the wild phooka 
she heard, and the banshee, and many other sprites 
of greater and lesser renown amongst the tribes 
of fairydom, and Maddalena began to think that 
people in Ireland were singularly favored in living 
amongst such delightful creatures as the fairies, with 
a chance of obtaining admission, now and then, to 
their gorgeous palaces within the ancient raths, and 
of hearing their charmed music in the stillness of the 
night. Then the gifts they gave to their favorites 
amongst mortals ! the wedding presents and christen- 
ing presents, rewards of industry, and all the rest ! 
Who would not wish to be the recipient of fairy 
bounty ? So Maddalena said ; and Rose laughed, 
and Giacomo and Miss Ackland smiled at her simple 
earnestness. She, at least, had none of those 
“wretched doubtings” which the poet pathetically 
accuses of having “ banished 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


313 


All the graceful spirit people, children of the earth and sea, 

Whom in days now dim and olden, when the world was fresh 
and golden. 

Every mortal could behold in haunted rath, and tower, and 
tree.”* 

“ W ell !” said Rose, regaining her composure, “ I 
like the fairies, too, Maddalena — that is, to hear of 
them, you know ; for, of course, one never expects to 
see them.” 

“ Then you don’t expect to see them ?” 

“ Why, no, child !” and Rose laughed again ; “ I 
might when I was very young ” 

‘‘And how long ago may that be?” interrupted 
Giacomo gravely. 

“ Oh ! I don’t know — it is a long time ago now ; 
but, Maddalena, you wouldn’t like to see a ghost, 
would you ?” 

“ A ghost ! — oh ! dear me, no !” 

“ The Lord save us. Miss Rose !” cried Nancy, 
“ what makes you say the like o’ that ?” And the old 
woman shuddered as she looked back over her shoul- 
der, and all around. “ Mockin’s catchin’, you know !” 

“Very true, Nancy !” said Giacomo without paus- 
ing to consider what he was saying — “ who knows 
but that Captain Melville might be showing himself. 
This is just the night for a sailor’s ghost to appear.” 

A simultaneous sign from Rose and Nancy admon- 
ished him of his error, and- he remembered at once 
how the old woman had warned him not to speak of 

* D. F. McCarthy’s “ Alice and Una.” 


314 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


the ghost in Miss Ackland’s presence ; but too late, 
one and the other — too late to avoid wounding the 
heart that had loved Ralph Melville, and loved his 
memory still. A mortal paleness overspread Miss 
Ackland’s face, and she sank back in her chair almost 
fainting, as Rose had seen her once before when she 
delivered Mabel’s message. Rose and Maddalena 
flew to her assistance ; she smiled faintly and gently 
motioned them away, but by a sudden impulse, she 
caught Maddalena’s hand, and the girl, sorrowing and 
amazed, knelt beside her, when she fixed a long and 
wistful look on her face, then sighed heavily, and her 
eyes filled with tears. Giacomo sent Nancy for a 
glass of water, and when Miss Ackland had taken a 
little she revived and sat up again smiling at her own 
weakness. Giacomo commenced to apologize, but she 
stopped him, saying — 

“ Pray don’t mention it, Giacomo ! It is I that 
should rather apologize for having so alarmed you 
and Maddalena. I am ashamed of my weakness, 
which yet I cannot overcome. ’ 

“ An’ still you weren’t a bit daunted when you seen 
him, Miss Lyddy!” said Nancy with the respectful 
familiarity of long service and tried fidelity — “ Mister 
Jacomy, she isn’t the least bit afraid of ghosts !” 

A severe look from Miss Ackland silenced her, and 
she soon after made her retreat to the kitchen, having 
been summoned to the sitting-room at Rose’s request 
expressly to entertain Maddalena with her stories. 

Much did Giacomo and his sister desire to know 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE 


315 


wbo and what the Captain Melville had been who 
was so fondly remembered by Miss Ackland years 
after his death. They looked at Rose and Rose 
looked at them ; she read their thoughts, and would 
gladly have given the information they so much 
desired, but she knew that neither then nor after was 
it allowable for her to make any allusion to that sub- 
ject. Her aunt, moreover, warned her by a look, and 
she was glad to turn the conversation to something 
else. 

Maddalena, however, could not help thinking of 
what she had heard concerning the ghost, and when 
she and Rose retired for the night, she asked with 
some hesitation where it was that Miss Ackland had 
seen the ghost. “ Was it in this house 

“Hot exactly,” said Rose, “it was out on the es- 
planade.” 

“ On the esplanade ! Oh ! I will never go there 
again in the evening.” 

“ And why ?” 

“ Why, only think ! if the Signor Capitano should 
appear to me. O cielo /” 

“ But, my dear Maddalena ! why should he appear 
to you ?” 

“ And why should he appear to your aunt ?” 

“ Oh I because my aunt knew him when he was 
alive. He used to be a visitor here a great while 
ago.” 

“ You tell me so ?” said Maddalena with a shudder 
— “ oh ! I wish I had not come.” 


316 


TUB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Rose did not like the subject for that particular 
time and place, but she tried to conceal her own 
fears in order to reason Maddalena out of hers ; rea- 
soning failed, however, and then Rose tried raillery, 
which she found more effective. She began to laugh 
and make a jest of the whole affair, going so far as to 
say that her aunt might only have imagined that she 
saw the ghost, and after a little she got Maddalena 
to laugh, too, and then Rose found, to her surprise, 
that her own secret fears had all but vanished, and 
she actually felt the courage she but feigned before. 
So much for the power of self control, and the bliss- 
ful elasticity of youth. When sleep came down on 
the eyelids of those two fair friends, it brought no 
dreams of terror. 

Not so calm was Miss Ackland’s sleep ; fierce gusts 
of wind still shook the old 'walls at times, and howled 
around the casements, and Lydia Ackland was ever 
wakeful when the winds were abroad. Visions of 
terror and affright then filled her mind ; the cries of 
drowning men were in her ears, mingling with the 
shrieks of the blast, and one voice she ever seemed to 
hear above all the rest, one face but too familiar her 
fancy still distinguished, turning ever on her a sad 
reproachful glance ere it vanished in the deep dark 
waters. Then it was that self-reproach was torture, 
and one trifling fault was magnified by conscience 
into a grievous sin. Then she wept and prayed, oh I 
how fervently, for that soul so suddenly called to its 
account ; it was only when the winds were at length 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


317 


hushed, and the stillness of night brought calm to the 
troubled mind, that her weary eyelids closed in sleep, 
and past and present were alike forgotten. 

On the following day, Giacomo came early to ask 
the ladies to go out for a drive in the afternoon ; Miss 
Ackland declined going, saying that she felt rather 
indisposed, suggesting that the others should call for 
Mrs. Hamilton, a widow lady of her acquaintance who 
was in delicate health, and rather low in circum- 
stances. She was very amiable and very intelligent, 
and altogether Miss Ackland felt much interested in 
her, having known her when the prospects of both 
were brighter, and Mrs. Hamilton a happy wife. 

Rose caught eagerly at the proposition ; Mrs. Ham- 
ilton was one of her favorites, too, and, as she said — 
“It will do the poor thing good; she cannot often 
have a drive.” 

Giacomo looked as though he would willingly have 
dispensed with the fair widow’s company on the oc- 
casion, but of course he took care not to say so, and 
the matter was arranged accordingly. 

The afternoon came, school was dismissed, and our 
young trio set out in the best possible spirits, — Rose 
telling her aunt to take care of herself as she laugh- 
ingly kissed her hand to her when they drove off ; 
Miss Ackland had gone down to the gate with them. 
Maddalena had petitioned to be allowed to remain 
with Miss Ackland, but her offer was gratefully de- 
clined, and she was reluctantly obliged to go with the 
others. 


818 


THE OLD UOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


They had been gone an hour or so when a ring 
came to the door; and Miss Ackland, reading in the 
back parlor, was surprised by the entrance of a gen- 
tleman in uniform whom she instantly recognized as 
Major Melville. It was not without a certain degree 
of embarrassment that she returned his bow, and 
requested him to be seated. There was a momen- 
tary pause, and then it was the gentleman who 
spoke. 

“ Miss Ackland must be rather surprised to see 
me here, and I confess I feel rather awkward myself 
all things considered.” 

“I certainly did not expect the honor of a visit 
from Major Melville,” the lady replied somewhat 
stiffly. 

“ And yet I have visited your house before, if not 
yourself.” 

“ So I have heard. Major Melville, and with some 
surprise. I am at a loss to understand why you 
should visit my house, or myself either.” 

“ Am I not welcome, then ?” 

“Yes, undoubtedly, if you come as a friend.” Her 
voice trembled as she added — “ Ralph Melville’s bro- 
ther cannot but be welcome under this roof.” 

“ I thank you. Miss Ackland — for his sake, if not 
for my own,” and the Major bowed with stately 
grace. “ There was a time, I will frankly tell you, 
when I thought it was beyond the range of possi- 
bility that I should cross the threshold of you? 
home.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


319 


‘‘ That was not strange,” said Miss Ackland in a 
voice barely audible. “You thought you owed me 
no good will, and from your point of view you cer- 
tainly did not.” 

“ And from yours ?” he abruptly asked.' 

“ Sympathy — affection,” she promptly answered. 

“ That I cannot admit,” said the Major, shaking his 
head gravely. “ What did I— -what did we owe you 
of sympathy or affection ?” 

“ I will tell you,” said Miss Ackland, her pale cheek 
suffused with a crimson blush, and the light of her 
departed youth flashing from her eyes usually so mild 
— “ I may tell you now what I never told your bro- 
ther : — if the warmest and truest love for him in life, 
and the most enduring sorrow for him in death — ay ! 
sorrow that blighted my life’s bloom, and left me old 
ere youth was past — if these gave me any claim on 
your sympathy and compassion — then I tell you, Guy 
Melville ! I deserved both !” 

She covered her face with her hands, and the tears 
trickled from between her slender fingers. When 
she withdrew her hands, and hastily wiped the tears 
from her eyes, she found the Major standing before 
her, regarding her with a look which she could not 
understand, earnest, wistful, yet irresolute, as though 
a struggle were going on within. 

“ Then you regretted your treatment of my bro- 
ther ?” he said, in a husky voice. 

“ Regretted it ! — oh ! how much I did regret it ! — 
I have been very wretched !” 


S20 


THE OT-D HOUSE BY THE BOVNK. 


“No doubt; remorse is hard to bear, when once 
it takes possession of the soul.” 

“■ Remorse, Major Melville, is too strong a word 
for my regret ; to feel remorse, one must have done 
some grievous wrong.” 

“ And did not you do a grievous wrong, when you 
wantonly sported with a heart so noble as was that 
of Ralph, and finally cast it from you as a worthless 
thing?” 

Miss Ackland felt that a searching glance was bent 
upon her, but she did not shrink from its scrutiny. 
She raised her eyes and looked full in the face of her 
interlocutor. 

“ Pardon me. Major Melville !” she said somewhat 
haughtily, “ I cannot plead guilty to that extent. I 
repaid your brother’s love with love equal to his own, 
and 1 meant nothing less than to sport with his af- 
fection ; his own precipitancy in wresting a wrong 
meaning from my words was the first cause of our 
fatal separation, my annoyance at his want of pene- 
tration and his unkind suspicion, the second. But 
had I known at the moment that he really took iny 
squivocating answer as a final one, I would undoubt- 
edly have undeceived him.” 

Guy Melville looked at her a moment, and a smile 
curved his lip and brightened his grave countenance; 
he took her hand and said in a kindly tone — “ I be- 
lieve you, Miss Ackland ! and if Ralph were in my 
place he would believe you — and be happy in believ- 
ing I shall hope to see you again.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


321 


He then took his leave, and Miss Ackland, though 
much surprised, felt all the better and happier for hin 
tIaII. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 


Some len days after Major Melville's risit, Giacomo 
being about to return home, Miss Ackland said on 
the Friday evening that there was one place neither 
he nor Maddalena had yet seen, and which they must 
see before Giacomo left. Rose asked what place it 
was. 

“ Oh ! never mind,” said her aunt, “ you will know 
it when we get there. I kept this for our last excur- 
sion, Giacomo, as the place is a favorite resort of 
mine, and I think you and Maddalena will find it in- 
teresting. So if to-morrow is fine we shall go in the 
forenoon and take our dinner with us.” 

“And the company ?” said Giacomo. 

“ None — for this ouce ! — we will go en quartette^ 
“ I am very glad ; so near my departure, I should 
much prefer having only ourselves.” 

“ Oh! you selfish mortal 1” cried Rose, with a sud- 
den burst of gaity that seemed spasmodic, “ you don’t 
want others to share your enjoyment 1” 

“ Yes ! I do — but not too many, or my enjoyment 
would be none at all. One— or two — or even three 
may be company,— that is to say if they be those 
whose companionship is pleasant and agreeablft— W 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


323 


yond that one finds the crowd, and companionship is 
lost.” 

“ He is like my father in that,” said Maddalena , 
“ my father cannot bear much people about him.” 

“ Oh ! your father is a regular hermit,” said Rose, 
“ as I understand him.” 

“ Almost — not quite,” replied Giacomo smiling, as 
he rose to depart ; “ my father has his company, I 
fancy, in his own thoughts, and then he has a minia- 
ture, in a shagreen case, which he never shows to any 
one, keeping it always carefully locked up. But I 
have seen him when he did not think I saw him, as 
wrapped up in the contemplation of that picture as 
though it were some old and dear friend. And I 
think it is, too ! — You know, Maddalena !” 

“ Yes, I know !” 

“ Dear me !” said Rose, much interested in the 
mystery, “ I wonder is it the likeness of a man or a 
woman ? — Has either of you ever seen it ?” 

“ I once got a glimpse — barely a glimpse of it,” 
said Giacomo, “ but it is so very long ago that I can 
scarcely remember anything more about it than that 
it was a lady young and fair ; childlike, I told my 
mother of it, at the time, and it seemed to trouble 
her, so I never spoke of it to any one aftero I think it 
was only of late years, however, that my father began 
to look at the picture again ; it seems to me now that 
he had put it away from his sight all the years of his 
married life.” 

Miss Ackland began lo think that Signor Malvili 


S24 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


was a more interesting person than she had supposed 
him to be, but she did not think it necessary to say 
BO, and the conversation ended. Giacomo said “ good 
night” at last, and hurried away, as it was wearing late. 

The sun shone out next day warm and bright for 
the season ; early in the forenoon came Giacomo, but, 
early as it was, Tom Connor was at the gate wdth his 
car, and the girls were sitting on the bench in the 
porch shawled 'and bonneted. Nancy was just 
mounting the steps, after placing a well-filled basket 
in the well of the car.* She whispered to Giacomo 
as she passed him in the ascent — Did Miss Ackland 
tell you that Major Melville was here while you were 
all out drivin’ that day ?” “ Yes ! she just mentioned 

that he had called, but said no more about it.” “ I 
thought maybe she didn’t tell you, at all. You see I 
was right enough.” She passed on, but her words 
did not pass from Giacomo’s mind, and they rang in 
his ears for hours after. 

Miss Ackland had been watching his approach from 
the parlor window, and she quickly made her appear- 
ance equipped for the ride. The morning salutation 
being exchanged, and the beauty of the day noted, 
the party descended to the gate, and took their seats 
on the car. 

* Those who have never seen an “ Irish jaunting-car” may 
require to be informed that the well is that put of the car 
liluate between the backs of the two seats which occupy the 
sides. The well is a great convenience for stowing away spare 
R uffling, baskets, and such like appurtenances of travelling. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


325 


“Where to, Miss Ackland?” inquired Tom Con- 
nor, as he mounted the driver’s seat. Her answer 
was only heard by Tom himself, who nodded intelli- 
gently, smacked his whip, gave the reins a shake, en- 
couraged his horse with a “Step out, Johnny!” and 
away they went at a brisk trot through the narrow 
streets right across the old town to the West Gate, 
then along the smooth turnpike road to the quiet 
village of Tullyallen, passing through which they 
came to the beautiful demesne of Townley Hall, and 
Rose, turning round to her aunt, — she and Maddalena 
sat on the opposite side together — she said — 

“ Oh ! then, it is to Townley Hall we are going, 
Aunt Lydia I” 

“ There, and a little farther, my dear 1” 

“ A little farther — oh ! I know now — I am so 
glad !” 

The woods around Townley Hall were rich in 
their many hued autumnal garb, green and gold and 
brown and crimson, and very tempting were the 
glimpses caught of the noble avenue sweeping 
through the demense to the door of the stately man- 
sion. But it did not suit Miss Ackland’s purpose to 
visit those sylvan scenes just then, so Townley Hall 
and its pleasant shades were passed, and a less invit- 
ing road taken which diverged from the high road, 
and ran for a considerable distance along the brow 
of a bleak and barren hill than which nothing could 
present a greater contrast to the smiling scenes just 
left behind. 


S26 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNB. 


Giacomo could not help saying — “ What a cheer- 
less road this is I— how different from anything we 
have seen before ! Have we much more of this 
kind of scenery to pass through ?” Miss Ackland 
smiled and said — “ Hot much,” and they passed on. 

They had reached the highest ground on the hill- 
side, when Giacomo asked — 

“ What ruins are those ?” pointing to the tops of 
some shattered edifices which had just become visible 
in a deep hollow on the left hand side of the road. 

“ You shall know presently,” said Miss Ackland, 
“ when you see them better. Look yonder,” pointing 
over a bleak common to the right, “ and you will see 
some other ruins with what is perhaps still more in- 
teresting to you, one of those famous round towers 
of which so many exist in various parts of Ireland.” 

“ And what place may that be ?” 

“ That is Monasterboice, an abbey of some note in 
early times.” 

“ Are we going there ?” 

“ No, you must be content with what you see of 
Monasterboice from here. But do you see that 
wooded hill there right before you, rising so grandly 
from the level country around ?” 

“ Yes, I was just admiring it, with the lofty tower 
on its summit.” 

“Well! that is the hill of Slane, a place very 
famous in Irish annals. It was there that St. Patrick 
may be said to have commenced his mission ; on that 
hill, on an Easter Saturday evening, he kindled the 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 327 

fire which has since illumined not only this country 
but many other parts of the earth, I will show all 
this to Maddalena by and by. Now, Tom,” to the 
driver, “ you can remain here with the car while we 
go forward on foot.” 

Our little party then alighted, and having descended 
the hill, came to the bank of a little river which there 
poured its limpid waters into a sort of fissure in the 
rocks. Following the course of the stream, they came 
to a large rock projecting forward till within a few 
yards of the river ; the space between the rock and 
the stream had been once occupied by a gate-tower 
with an embattled wall connecting it with the rock; 
of this tower some remains were still visible, and 
through an arch, Which was probably a fortified en- 
trance in ancient times, a view was obtained w^hich 
drew an exclamation of wonder from both the brother 
and sister. Nestling in the depth of the quiet, 
sequestered valley on the banks of the little stream, 
lay the stattered remains of several buildings, evi- 
dently dating from very ancient times ; the sun not 
yet at the zenith was shining full upon the ruins, some 
of which were throwing their shadows westward over 
the long grass that grew green and rank in the shelter 
of the ancient walls. Immediately in front, about the 
centre of the valley, stood what had once been an octa- 
gonal building of some architectural pretensions, and 
of considerable beauty still even in its ruined state ; 
adjoining that was another oblong building with its 
side towards the entrance from the tower, and the 


S28 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOVNE. 

Bhattered interior of an upper story, with a belfry 
tower at the front end still in some preservation. 
Many other buildings, in a still more advanced stage 
of ruin and decay, lay scattered around, and the place 
would have seemed the very abode of silence and 
contemplation had not the charm been rudely, harshly 
broken by an unsightly flour mill, which you could 
not help wishing some Irish Aladdin would remove 
to some other locality where more of the busy living 
world was seen, and less of the dead and silent. 

“ My dear Miss Ackland,” said Giacomo, after ho 
had taken a hasty survey of the surroundings, “ I 
never saw any tiling more solemn, more striking ! — 
What do you call this charming place ?” 

“ This is Mellifont ! — the Melrose of Ireland I 
know you have been reading Scott’s ‘Lay of the Last 
^linstrel,’ and, therefore, know what I mean by ap- 
plying the term to Mellifont.” 

“ What a strange place !” said Maddalena, “ those 
ghosts of houses make one think of many sad things !” 

“ Are those ruins ecclesiastical, or what ?” said 
Giacomo, whose eyes still wandered admiringly over 
the solemn features of the scene. 

Monastic rather. Those broken walls and arches 
are all that now remain of a stately Cistercian Abbey, 
founded here by monks sent from Clairvaux by St. 
Bernard himself. It was considered one of the great 
abbeys of Ireland, and certainly none of them is more' 
interesting in a historical point of view. This octa- 
gonal building you sec here was the baptistry, that 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


329 


one of oblong shape was St. Bernard’s Chapel, a 
crypt, as you see, the floor being considerably lower 
than the surrounding earth, and this gaping aperture 
at the end was once a beautiful doorway, considered 
one of the finest in Ireland ; there are people living 
who remember to have seen the zig-zag moulding 
which adorned the arch.” 

“ And what place was that above the chapel ?” 

“ I really cannot say ; it appears to have been used 
as a dwelling, as the fireplace and recessed closets 
are still to be seen.” 

“ Indeed ?” said Maddalena ; “ oh ! I should much 
like to go up and see it. Could one go ?” 

Miss Ackland smiled : “ Yes, if one is not very 
much afraid of breaking their bones. If you were 
willing to venture you could manage to climb that 
flight of stone steps at the angle of the wall.” 

“ Would you go up ?” said Maddalena to Rose, 
after glancing at the dilapidated steps. 

“ Yes, I would ; I have been up more than once.” 

“ Will you go now ?” said Giacomo. “ If you do, 
I will undertake to bring you and Maddalena safe 
down again.” 

Humph !” said Rose, “ do you think I could not 
go alone ?” And, without a moment’s hesitation, she 
began to climb the steps, seeing which her aunt ut- 
tered an exclamation of terror, Maddalena screamed, 
and Giacomo bounded up after her, as it seemed to 
the imminent peril of both. But they reached the 
top in safety, and Rose, all flushed and breathless, 


830 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

turuiiig to Giacomo, asked him why he had not staid 
below to assist Maddalena. 

“ You see I didn’t require your aid,” said she. 

“ But do you think I could leave you alone ex- 
posed to danger 

“ I think you might, at all events ! One person in 
danger is better than two. Besides, I was in no dan- 
ger, though it might seem to you I was. Well! 
Maddalena, will you come up now?” 

Maddalena, somewhat encouraged, said she thought 
she would venture. 

“ In that case,” said her brother, “ I will go down 
for you.” And he immediately began to descend, 
Rose, from the top, charging him to be careful, for 
that the descent was worse than the ascent. 

“ I will he careful,” was the reply, “ when you wish 
it.” 

When he reached the bottom, he took his sister by 
the hand, and held her fast till she, half laughing, 
half crying, ascended the first steps, but as two could 
not mount abreast, he could only keep close behind 
her the remainder of the way; Rose from above, 
and Miss Ackland below, warning them to mind well 
their steps, for that some of the stones might be loose. 
Giacomo laughed, and said “ Never fear,” but Mad- 
dalena became only the more fearful and the more 
agitated. Her nervous trepidation came near to be 
fatal to both, for when they had reached the middle 
of the ascent she fairly lost her presence of mind, and, 
overcome by her fears, turned and clutched her bro- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


331 


cher hj the arm; at the same moment a stone on 
which she had just set her foot gave way, and she 
fell, dragging Giacomo with her. A wild scream 
burst simultaneously from Rose and Miss Ackland ; 
but just then a gentleman stepped forward, and catch- 
ing Maddalena in his arms, so broke the fall for Gia- 
como, too, that he alighted on his feet. Another 
gentleman now advanced to the assistance of the first, 
and as they seated Maddalena, pale and trembling, on 
a large stone, with her back resting against the front 
wall of the chapel, Miss Ackland and Giacomo ex- 
claimed together — 

“ Major Melville ! — is it possible !” Possible, and 
true, thanks to Providence !” 

Yes ! it was, indeed. Major Melville, who, having 
driven out that day to Mellifont with a young bro- 
ther ofiicer, — the same Captain Cornell who had been 
his companion when Miss Ackland and Rose first met 
him, — ^little expecting to meet any acquaintances there, 
had reached that particular spot just in time to save 
Maddalena and perhaps her brother from serious in- 
jury, at least. 

“Thank God! thank God!” ejaculated Miss Ack- 
land, her eyes filled with tears of joy and gratitude, 
“ and you. Major !” extending her hand, which he 
took respectfully, “and you who came so oppor- 
tunely to the rescue I” 

“And you will please accept mt/ thanks. Major 
Melville I” said Giacomo with manly frankness, shak- 
ing his hand ; “how can I thank you ?” 


332 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ By saying nothing about it,” said the Major 
curtly “ I hope you are nothing the worse for your 
fall ?” 

‘‘ iTothing whatever ; and I am still more thankful 
that my sister escaped unhurt. It would almost be 
the death of my father if anything had befel Aer.” 

The Major turned at the words and fixed his keen 
glance on Maddalena where she still sat, with her 
head leaning on Miss Ackland’s shoulder, a faint 
smile lighting up her pallid face, to which the deli- 
cate rose tints were gradually returning, As he 
gazed a softened look stole over his face, he ap- 
proached her, and said in a hesitating way — 

“ I hope you are not much hurt. Signora ?” 

She started at the sound of his voice, raised her- 
self, and looked up in his face with a strange bewil- 
derment, at which he smiled, and merely repeated his 
question. 

“ I do not feel hurt, at all,” the girl replied, in her 
sweet, foreign accent; “ the Madonna reward you, 
sir ! For me, I cannot thank you as I would wish — > 
but my brother wi!l thank you, and, some day, per- 
haps, my father !” 

“ Suddenly her eyes fell, and her cheek flushed, and 
Major Melville turning to ascertain the cause per- 
ceived that Captain Cornell was leaning on a broken 
pillar near, watching the fair Italian girl with a look 
of intense admiration. “ Come along, Cornell !” said 
he, “ we have all to see here yet, and the day is 
passing.” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


333 


“ But wliere is Rose ?” said Miss Ackland, all at 
once ; “ And where is Giacomo 

“Has any one a smelling-bottle?” said the latter 
from above, “ Miss Rose has fainted, I believe.” 

Miss Ackland, much alarmed, took from her pocket 
a bottle of sal volatile^ but the difficulty was how to 
get it up. Captain Cornell, however, offered his 
services, and ascending the steps half way or so, suc- 
ceeded in reaching the bottle to Giacomo. 

“ Shall I go up to assist you ?” said the Captain. 

“ Thank you, it is quite unnecessary.” 

There was breathless silence below during the very 
few minutes that elapsed before Giacomo called to 
Miss Ackland that Miss Rose was recovering; the 
aunt raised her eyes to heaven in silent thanksgiving, 
then begged Major Melville and his friend to delay 
no longer on their account, but commence their ex- 
ploration of the ruins. 

“ Have you gone all through ?” said the Major. 

“ Oh ! my niece and I have been here more than 
once before — ^it was only for the sake of our young 
friends that we came now, and I am sorry to say they 
have not seen much of the valley or the ruins yet. 
Do you think you would be able to go any farther, 
Maddalena?” 

Somehow Maddalena’s eyes met Captain Cornell’s 
just then, and there was such a look of entreaty in 
them that she blushed as she answered — “ Oh yes 1 I 
feel quite strong now — it was only the fright that 


834 


TUB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


made me feel faint. I know my brother would be 
much disappointed if we did not stay to see all.” 

“ Very well, my dear, if Rose is not able to walk 
she can sit here till we return.” 

“ In that case,” said the Major, “ we shall make the 
tour of the valley together — if you have no objection, 
ladies. !” 

“ Certainly not,” said Miss Ackland, “ it will afford 
us pleasure to have your company. Major, and that 
of your friend, to me all the more, as from my fami- 
liarity with the place I may be of some service as a 
ciceronay 

Whilst this short colloquy was going on below, an- 
other of a far different kind might have been heard 
aboYe had any one been sufficiently near. When 
Rose opened her eyes and found her head resting on 
Giacomo’s arm, a faint blush stole over her face, and 
she made a. motion as if to raise herself, but the 
effort was beyond her strength, and her head sank 
heavily on the arm that so tenderly supported her. 

“ Thank Heaven, you are again conscious !” said 
Giacomo in a voice trembling with emotion. “ Oh 1 
Rose ! how you frightened me — I mean us 1” 

“ Hot so much,” she found voice to say, “ as you 
frightened me. Oh ! that moment !” She closed her 
eyes as if to shut out the sight, and a visible shudder 
ran through her frame. 

“ You are not hurt ?” said Rose, opening her eyes 
with a start, and fixing them on the face that hung 
over her. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 335 

“ No,” said Giacomo — it was all he could say, 

“Nor Maddalena ?” 

“ Nor Maddalena !” 

God be praised !” There was little in the words, 
but much in the voice, and Giacomo’s heart thrilled. 
He said nothing, however, and Rose, feeling the si 
lence awkward, and being now somewhat stronger, 
raised herself, and gently put away his arm. Then she 
said, with a timid look at his flushed and agitated face — 

“ Had w^e not better go downi now. Signor?” 

“ Do you feel able ?” Giacomo asked in a low voice 

“ Oh ! yes, I am sure I am able, and you know my 
aunt will be anxious till she sees me safe. Come, 
Signor, give me your hand ; I am not strong enough, 
you see, to rise without help !” and she smiled with 
something of her wonted archness. 

Instead of replying, Giacomo said passionately — 
“ Signor ! you call me Signor ! — ^Rose Ackland, this 
must not, shall not continue ! — I love you more than 
my own life, yet you treat me as though I were almost 
a stranger ! — When is this to end ? — or shall it ever?” 

Rose’s face was crimson in a moment, then pale as 
death; she trembled, and seemed as though unable 
to utter a word. 

‘ Rose ! will you not speak to me ?” said Giacomo 
beseechingly ; he was standing full in front of her 
with his eyes fixed on her face. “ I asked you are we 
always — always to be to each other as we are now ?’ 

“You ask me a question which I cannot answer,” 
said Rose without looking up.” 


336 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“You cannot?” 

“Not now, at least; I cannot stay here longer,” 
she was going to say Signor^ then checked herself, 
and said, “ Giacoyno I — I want to see my aunt and 
Maddalena,” holding out her hand at the same time, 
which he took and raised her up, then pressed the 
hand before he resigned it. 

By this time, the rest of the party were waiting at 
the foot of the steps, and Rose, on advancing to the 
top with Giacomo, glanced down and drew back in 
surprise on seeing the strangers, who were not in 
uniform. Her aunt noticed the movement and said — 

“ Don’t mind, my dear ! it is only Major Melville 
and a brother officer who chanced to meet us here. 
But how are you going to get Rose down ?” she 
added, addressing Giacomo. 

“ Oh ! Aunt Lydia, I am quite able to go down 
myself,” said Rose. 

“ I should not like to see you try,” said Giacomo in 
an under tone. 

“ Suppose we try to procure a ladder in the neigh- 
borhood,” suggested Captain Cornell ; “ it is impossi- 
ble for the young lady to get down without one.” 

“ Not quite impossible, sir,” said Giacomo, and 
turning again to Rose, he said in the same low whis- 
per, “ will you trust yourself to me ?’’ 

“ I will !” she answered firmly. 

“Thanks! — now, then, permit me!” And, encir- 
cling her waist with his arm, he gently drew one 
arm of hers around his neck, and ejaculating a fervent 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


337 


prayer to God and the Blessed Virgin, he began to 
descend slowly and carefully, little heeding the ex- 
clamations of terror and apprehension from below, 
his every thought, his every sense absorbed in the 
one beloved creature, whose head lay helplessly on 
his shoulder, for Rose’s courage had again failed her. 
She was perfectly conscious, however, and clung 
with convulsive energy to him whose strong arm 
seemed alone between her and death. Ko word 
passed between them during the perilous descent, 
but their hearts held close communion, they entered 
then on a new phase of existence, and both felt that 
the relations between them had changed forever — 
they could no more be as they had been, conceal- 
ment was at an end, dissimulation and doubt alike 
impossible. That moment, with all its thrilling sense 
of danger, was looked back on by those two in after 
years as the happiest of their life. 

But this change was perceptible to none save them- 
selves ; when Rose stood safe beside her aunt, and 
mutual felicitations were exchanged, the affair was 
treated as nothing more than an exciting episode 
and all went on as before. It was remarked, how- 
ever, that Giacomo was seldom absent from the side 
of Rose, and that Rose leaned on his arm as she had 
never leaned before. Captain Cornell seemed, in like 
manner, to take Maddalena under his special care, 
seeing which Major Melville and Miss Ackland ex- 
changed a smiling glance of intelligence, and the 
gentleman said as he offered his arm to the lady : 


538 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


. “ Pairing off, I protest, in parliamentary styla 
See what it is to be young 

Just then appeared on the scene a peasant woman 
with a stone pitcher in her hand, and the thought oc- 
curred to Miss Ackland that she might be made use- 
ful. Accosting her, therefore, as she passed, she 
asked where she was going to get water there. 

“ Down at St. Mary’s Fountain, ma’am !” said the 
woman with the usual low curtsey, almost down to 
the ground. 

“Why, I did not know there was a fountain here.” 

“No more there wasn’t, ma’am,” (another curtsey) 
“ till here a few years agone. In coorse, it was here 
in the ould ancient times, for it was the one that kept 
the monks in wather long ago.” 

“ I suppose,” said the Major, “ you know a great 
many stories about this old abbey.” 

“ Oh then, it’s myself that does, your honor, an’ 
how could I miss of it, for sure wasn’t I born there 
abroad within a stone’s throw of it.” She squatted 
herself on the ground on her haunches, with her 
pitcher beside her, as one who desired nothing bet- 
ter than a good long shanachus. 

“ Sure but there’s many a quare thing seen an’ hard,” 
she began, “ about these ould walls, for all they’re so 
quiet now. There’s them above ground,” and she 
lowered her voice to a mysterious whisper, “ that has 
seen the monks walkin’ in procession here in the dead 
hour o’ the night, for all the world as if they were 
alive, and the moon shinin’ on the great silver cross 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


339 


that was carried before them, till the sight of it ’id 
dazzle a body’s eyes. An’ the hymns they’d be sing' 
in’ — och! it’s a folly to talk, man or mortal never 
hard the like, barrin’ them that hard it here.” 

“ Who they were, deponent saith not,” whispered 
the Captain to the Major. 

“And what about the Mass-bell?” said Miss Ack- 
land. 

“ Oh ! you’ve hard of that, ma’am ?” 

“ Yes, but others of our party did not ?” 

“ Well ! I’ll tell the quality how it was. You see, 
there was once upon a time, a wild fellow by the 
name of Larry Delany, a journeyman waver by 
trade, an’ the sorra thing he did the whole Sunday 
over but ramble abroad in the fields, and go from place 
to place divartin’ himself. He got in lime that he 
never set his foot inside a church, an’ cared no more 
about missin’ Mass than if he was a brute baste, the 
Lord save us ! Well! one Sunday mo min’ — it was 
in the summer time, too, an’ as beauty-ful a day as 
ever came from the heavens, an’ my bowld Larry 
was on his tramp, to be sure, as usual, an’ he thought 
he’d take a short ,cnt through the valley here to 
where he was goin’, wherever that was. So he was 
makin’ the best of his speed along, and was jist about 
where we are now, about the time of last Mass, 
when he hears a bell ringin’ — the sweetest bell he 
ever hard in all his days, an’ it rung, an’ rung jist as 
you’d hear it in the chapel comia’ on the time of the 
Elevation. With that tlie hair began to rise on 


540 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 

Larry’s head, an’ his knees shook under him. ‘ Christ 
save us !’ says he to himself, ‘ sure there’s ne’er a 
chapel hereabouts. What’s this at all ?’ — So he 
cocks his ear to listen, an’ he says again — ‘ Oh 
Blessed Virgin ! it’s in the ould chapel it is I’ With 
that he looks in, an’ sure enough he seen a 
sight that made him trimble all over , — there was a 
priest at an altar under that end window sayin’ Mass, 
an’ ever so many monks an’ some that wasn’t monks, 
kneelin’ in the chapel with their heads bent down ; 
now, you see, LaiTy knew well enough that there 
never was an altar there since the memory of man 
or long before it, an’ that what he seen was nothing 
earthly, an’ the cowld sweat broke out all over his 
body ; down he pops on his knees, an’ bent his head 
like the rest, but a prayer he couldn’t say, he was so 
much afeard. Presently, the bell rung again, an’ poor 
Larry makes bowld to lift ids head the laste little bit, 
an’, my dears ! there was the priest with his hands 
raised up high all as one as if he was elevatin’ the 
Host, an’ Larry couldn’t keep in any longer, he cries 
out — ‘ Oh Lord ! have mercy on me a sinner !’ an’ 
down he falls flat on the ground How long he lay 
there he never could tell, but when he woke up it was 
the middle o’ the day, he knew by the sun, an’ there 
wasn’t monk or altar, either, in the ould chapel, 
but everything was jist as he had always seen 
it. So Larry made the best of his way home, an’ 
from that day till the day he died, he never missed 
Mass on Sunday or holyday. An’ sure he wasn’t the 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 


341 


only one that hard the Mass-bell ringin’ in Melli- 
font Abbey since it came to what you see it. Ochone ! 
an’ isn t it the black sight for the country round, for 
sure they say it was past credit what the blessed and 
holy monks used to give to the poor every day of 
their lives, for all they lived so poor themselves.” 

“ But they were very rich, were they not ?” said 
Captain Cornell, the only Protestant present. 

“ You might say that, your honor ! I hard ould 
people tell that the monks of Mellifont had as much 
silver an’ goold in a manner as the king himself.” 

At this the ladies laughed, and the woman waxed 
somewliat indignant. “ You may laugh as much as 
you like, ladies !” said she, “ but I’m tellin’ you the 
truth, as I hard it from them that was oulder an’ 
wiser than myself An’ more by token, they say 
there’s a power of that same goold and silver buried 
here still.” 

“ Why, how could that be ?” said Giacomo; “ why 
would the monks bury their gold and silver ?” 

“ Bekase they were turned out at last by the — 
ahem ! by the English, an’ the house taken over their 
heads, an’ they were afeard to take their treasures 
with them, for fear they’d be taken from them, so 
the'y buried them somewheres about the Abbey, 
thinkin’ that some day or another they’d be back 
again. But, ochone ! that day never came since !” 

“ But how do people know that the treasures are 
Concealed here ?” inquired Major Melville. 

“ Well ! they don’t know it for sartin, your honor, 


342 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


but it was always said so, an’ sure some got the 
knowledge of it in drames.” 

“Indeed?” 

“Indeed they did, your honor, an’ people have 
come here in sarch of the same treasures, from the 
farthest parts of Ireland. It isn’t very long since a 
man came from Connaught, all the ways.” 

“ From Connaught ? is it possible ? ’ 

“Ay, indeed, did he ! — he dramed, it seems, that if 
he'd come to Mellifont Abbey, near Drogheda, on the 
county march between Louth an’ Meath, an’ dig 
down at a particular spot among the ruins, he’d find 
enough of goold an’ silver to make him as rich as a 
lord. So he travelled on ever, till he made out Mel- 
lifont, an’ got a pick-axe and shovel an’ a crow-bar 
an’ went by night to dig down at the spot he seen in 
his drame.” 

“Well !” said Giacomo, “ did he find the treasure?” 

“ Ho, but he was very near findin* it; after diggin’ 
a long time he came to a big broad stone, an’ his 
heart jumped at the sight for he knew the treasure 
was right undher it, but jist as he put the crow-bar 
in undher the stone to lift it up, behowld you, some- 
thing all in white, like a monk with a hood up on his 
head, comes an’ stands right fornenst him on the other 
side o’ the stone, an’ its hand stretched out pointing 
to the road he came. The poor man was scared 
enough, you may be sure, an’ he gathered up his tools 
m' was going to make off as fast as ever he could, 
Btealin’ a look every now an’ again at the great tall 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 343 

monk, but jist as he was turnin’ to go away, he hears 
a voice sayin’ — ‘ Cover the stone again !’ an’ with that 
the sperit vanished, an’ maybe the poor man didn’t 
make haste to do what he was bid, an’ do it well, too, 
so as that nobody ’id know that the place was dug 
up, at all !” 

So that was the end of the Connaught man’s 
dream !” said Miss Ackland smiling, “ and so ends 
many another dream,” she added, turning to the 
others ; “ the search for earthly treasures is sure to 
end in disappointment, and we may all learn from 
the experience of this unlucky treasure-seeker. Just 
when we have reached, as it were, the fulfilment of 
our cherished dream of life, comes some spectre from 
the unexplored regions of possibility to warn us 
thence, and cover up once and forever the treasure 
we had so coveted.” 

Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled 
with emotion. Major Melville drew her arm within 
his, and led her away, but not before he had given 
the good woman a piece of silver, which example was 
followed by the other gentlemen, and thanking the 
dame for her very acceptable information, they left 
her to fill her pitcher at St. Mary’s fountain and 
hurry home with her prize. 

“ How, good people,” said Miss Ackland, when 
they had made the circuit of the ruins, “ it is about 
time to have dinner, or lunch, or whatever you may 
choose to call it — I see Tom has brought the baskets 
hither, as I told him, so let us choose our saUe-a» 


344 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


man^cr^ and sit down. Gentlemen,” to the two offi- 
cers, “you will, I hope, favor us with your company?’ 

The gentlemen were only too happy to be asked, 
and a place was chosen on the bank of the little river, 
where the sward was fresh and green, in the shade 
of the projecting rock, and the ruined gate-tower of 
the ancient Abbey. The spot commanded a view of 
the entire valley, scattered all over with the moul- 
dering, dilapidated relics of departed wealth and 
power, glorious mementoes of the faith, and piety, 
and charity of dead ages, and of generations passed 
away. A spell hung over the place ; an air of reli- 
gious peace, of deep solemnity, pervaded every object, 
and the sun shone there with a mellow, softened 
lustre that harmonized with the solemn aspect of the 
place ; tenderly, caressingly, as it were, those yellow 
sunbeams fell on the ruined fane, and the broken 
Abbey-walls, and the graves of the sainted dead. 

During the repast, the conversation turned, as was 
natural, on the ancient glories of the place; Major 
MclviUe was passably well acquainted with them, and 
told how richly Mellifont had been endowed by Irish 
princes and by Norman lords, in the ages following 
its first foundation ; how the Abbots of Mellifont sat 
as lords in the Irish Parliament of those days, and 
ruled with salutary sway the broad domains given 
their Order for God’s service and the poor’s. Amongst 
other things he told how Hugh O’Neil, the great Earl 
of Tyrone, had within the walls of Mellifont Abbey 
surrendered his sword to Lord Mountjoy, Queen Eliza- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


345 


beth’s successful general, and with his sw'ord the last 
hope of that generation of Irish Catholics. 

“ And there is another sad memory connected with 
Mellifont,” said Miss Ackland, “which Major Mel- 
ville is probably forgetting, for he cannot but have 
heard or read it. You remember, Giacomo, the 
])rincess of Breffni, Dervorgilla, whose tragical his- 
tory I gave you to read a few days since ?” 

“ What ! the wife of O’Rourke, your Irish Helen, 
who was carried off by Dermot — Dermot some- 
thing ?” 

“Dermot MacMurragh — precisely. Well! it was 
here she spent her latter years, in rigorous penance, 
and died at a good old age, contrite and humble, but 
full of hope in the mercy of God.” 

Giacomo hearing this was much interested, and 
Miss Ackland went on to tell how the same Dervor- 
gilla in the days of her youth and innocence had pre- 
sented a golden chalice for the high altar of the Abbey- 
church, with rare and costly vestments. “ Who 
could have foreseen that day,” she added, “that 
other when she should come to hide her shame be- 
neath those venerable walls, and humbly seek admis- 
sion amongst the pious sisterhood of whose company 
contrition and mortification could alone make her 
worthy. Two striking pictures of human life in the 
light of prosperity and the darkness of disgrace 1 
Of course, Major Melville, you know Moore’s beauti- 
ful ‘ Song of O’Rourke,’ founded on this sad story ?” 

“ Yes, I know it— who does not ?” 


346 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“Perhaps you would be good enough to sing it 
for our young foreigners here, who have never heard 
it, I am sure ?” 

“ With great pleasure, Miss Ackland ! — such as my 
vocal powers are, they are at your service,” And, 
without further preface, he sang one of the best 
known and most generally popular of all the melo- 
dies, that fine historical ballad, commencing, “ The 
Valley Lay Smiling Before Me.” 

The song was well sung, and Giacoma and Mad- 
dalena were delighted, as was also Rose, for Colleen 
dhas scrudha na mo* was one of the airs she had 
learned to love in her earliest childhood. 

Apropos to love,” said Miss Ackland, “ I will tell 
you a story, short it must be, as it is about time we 
were starting for home. It occurred here quite near 
the old Abbey. You and I, Rose, have read it in the 
Dublin Fenny Journal, A young miller had been 
betrothed to a pretty young girl, ‘ a neighbor’s child,’ 
as the country people would say, but, sad to relate, 
the young man died before the marriage had taken 
place. The grief of his affianced bride is described 
as heart-rending. The night of the wake, she was 
suddenly missed from amongst her sympathizing re- 
latives and friends; search was made everywhere, 
and at length the horrible suspicion came into the 
minds of some present that the girl had committed 
suicide. It was not till all hopes of finding her had 
been given up, that she was found dead and cold be- 

♦ The Prettv Giil milking her Cow. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


347 


Bide her lover, where he was laid ‘ under board,’ as the 
peasantry call it ; unheeded, she had crept in by his 
side, and there laid her down to die.” 

This story drew tears from Maddalena, and Rose 
locked askance at Giacomo with a strange, sweet 
trouble in her eyes. He saw the glance and it made 
his heart thrill with joyful emotion. The repast was 
now ended, and it was not without reluctance that 
some, at least, of the party left the vale of Mellifont 
. — happier, nevertheless, than when they entered its 
hallowed precincts. 



CHAPTER XIX. 


Although Giacomo was to have left on the follow- 
ing day, it happened, whether by accident or design, 
that the vessel in which he was to have gone, sailed 
without him. Xor did he appear to apprehend any 
disagreeable consequences from the delay, although 
Maddalena made herself miserable over the prospect 
of her father’s displeasure, dreading its effects for 
Giacomo. But the latter only smiled, and said he 
would trust to her mediation to obtain his forgive- 
ness. And how much longer, she asked, did he in- 
tend to remain ? Oh ! of course, till the next oppor- 
tunity, which might not be for a week or two. His 
sang froid surprised Miss Ackland and Rose, the 
more so as it contrasted so oddly with the fears he 
had formerly entertained of incurring his father’s 
anger. “ Either,” said Miss Ackland to herself, 
“ either hi^ father is not so severe as he used to be, 
or our friend Giacomo is not quite so dutiful.” And 
do as she would these thoughts would keep posses- 
sion of her mind. As for Rose, she appeared neither 
to trouble herself much about the possible con- 
sequences, nor to reason on the propriety or impro- 
priety of Giacomo’s postponing his departure; she 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 349 

did; indeed, rally him on it, but in a waj that showed 
whether she meant it or not, her entire satisfaction. 
Its effect on the Brodigan sisters was very remark 
able. Only a few days had passed after it became 
known that the vessel had sailed without him, when 
Miss Brodigan took the opportunity of informing 
Harry Cusack that the affair was all settled, meaning 
a match between the young Leghorner and Rose Ack- 
land. Harry was a little disconcerted, at first, but 
Ann so far unbent from her usual hauteur as to con- 
descend to entertain him, which she did to such good 
effect that Cusack began to think she might really 
suit him better than Rose Ackland. The reader 
may possibly think of Reynard and his sour grapes 
in this connection, and smile at the thought, but we 
will not say that honest Harry thought of any such 
analogy. He thought of one thing, however, which 
effectually urged him on over the threshold of des- 
tiny, and that was, — a luminous idea surely 
that by popping the question to Ann Brodigan, 
and obtaining her consent on which, although 
no coxcomb, he counted with some degree of cer- 
tainty, — he should deprive the good people of his na- 
tive town of the opportunity of laughing at his ex- 
pense, as he had some reason to think they would if 
the supposition of Rose’s possible engagement to Gi- 
acomo was once noised abroad. On these consider- 
ations, and as a sort of dernier ressort^ Harry Cusack 
proposed for Miss Brodigan, senior, and was accepted 
with the best grace possible under the circumstanoeB. 


B 50 the old house by the boyne. 

The news of the elder sister’s engagement had 
scarcely set Dame Rumor s many voices talking, 
when ail Drogheda was astounded by the still less 
expected tidings that the younger was also “ engaged” 
to Mr. Tiernan, a business connection of her father’s, 
and a man who, in the ordinary course of nature, 
might have been her father himself. This was the 
greatest puzzle of all for the gossips of the old borough, 
and any number of visits were paid with the intention 
whether expressed or understood, of discussing a 
piece of intelligence which was pretty generally set 
down as “ strange— passing strange — wonderful I” At 
first it was doubted, but the public doubt soon gave 
place to private and individual certainty when it be- 
came known that the day was appointed, the same 
day for both sisters, and the wedding dresses actually 
in course of preparation. Well ! after that the towns- 
people said, they should not wonder at anything; 
about Harry Cusack and Ann they would not so 
much mind, for, after all, Harry’s attentions had been 
pretty fairly divided between her and Rose Ackland ; 
but that Jane, the prettiest and yoimgest of the two, 
should consent to have Tieman, that was almost in- 
credible, and formed undoubtedly a nine days’ won- 
der, the greatest of the season. 

What was known and talked of all over the town 
could not fail to reach the quiet dwelling of the Ack- 
lands; indeed, Mr. Brodigan himself came, in the 
joy of his heart, and with his usual singleness of pur- 
pose, to inform Miss Ackland, in virtue of their long 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 351 

friendship, of the double marriage about to take place. 
Miss Ackland, in all sincerity, offered her congratula- 
tions, and expressed no surprise whatever. The 
young people barely waited till Mr, Brodigan was 
gone to make their own comments on what they had 
heard. Maddalena, who had seen Mr. Tiernan more 
than once, said it was “ a sad pity for so pretty a girl 
as Signora Jane to marry a man so much older than 
herself ; she was sure the Signor Tiernan was as old 
as her father.” 

“ And not half so good-looking,” put in Giacomo. 

“ Ko, indeed, mio fratello^ I do not think him line, 
at all, the Signor Tiernan.” 

The ladies smiled and Giacomo laughed — “ You 
mean hanchome^ Maddalena.” 

The girl colored as she looked from one smiling 
face to the other. “And was it not the same I 
said ? — is not fine the same as ‘ good-looking ?’ ” 

“ i^ot exactly the same, my dear,” said Miss Ack- 
land, to whom she had addressed herself ; “ in your 
language it is, and also in the French, but in English 
the words have two distinct meanings. We never 
use the word fitie in the way in which you used it 
just now. You should have said ‘ handsome’ instead 
Df‘fine.’ ” 

During this brief colloquy Giacomo said to Rose 
in an under tone — “ Can you guess why the two Miss 
Brodigans, — and Mr. Cusack, too, have so taken the 
whole town by surprise ?” 


B52 


THR OLD IIOrSE BY TUB BOYNE. 


“ Not I — nor you, either, I think,” she replied in 
the same tone. 

“ In that you are mistaken, Rose !” — he had taken 
to calling her so ever since the day of the visit to 
Mellifont ; — “ I think I can guess the reason.” 

“ And pray what is it ?” 

Rose looked up at the moment, and reading the 
answer in his eyes, she colored to the temples and 
rose in some confusion, for the ostensible purpose of 
taking a book from the table, but in reality to hide 
her face from observation. 

It was quite remarkable how subdued she had be* 
come all of a sudden, and how much less quick at 
repartee. Her aunt, during those days, complimented 
her occasionally on her good behavior, telling her 
that she began to have hopes of her, now that she 
was becoming more guarded in her speech, and more 
reserved in her demeanor. The faintest possible 
smile might have been detected playing about Rose’s 
mouth, and her dark eyes twinkled with something 
of their sportive mischief, but she seemed to take the 
compliment in perfect good faith, and gravely ex* 
pressed her satisfaction that her aunt found her im- 
proving. 

The middle of October was past, and the trees 
were almost bare, the foliage that had been their 
beauty and their pride lay rotting in the dust, and 
the earth was gladsome no more. Cold winds whis- 
tled through chinks and crannies, doors and windows 
creaked, and freside pleasures were again in de- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


353 


maod. Giacomo had not yet found another oppor- 
tunity of returning home, and Maddalena’s fears grew 
every day stronger, especially as they had not heard 
from their father for over two weeks. Otherwise 
she was well content, and began to feel very much 
at home. It is true, her fears had not at all subsided 
in regard to Captain Melville's ghost, and many a 
time she stole into the kitchen to have a talk with 
Nancy on that solemn and mysterious subject, which 
had all the more attractions for her simple, giilish 
mind because of its being so carefully excluded from 
the general conversation of the family. 

It was one of those cold, gray evenings which the 
late autumn is wont to bring ; the little circle were 
seated around the fire between day and dark, in that 
old back parlor so much endeared to Miss Ackland 
and Rose, and to Giacomo, too, by its sweet and ten- 
der associations. Rose had just left the piano, after 
singing that beautiful “ Evening Hymn of the Cala- 
brian Shepherds Miss Ackland repeated the first 
stanzas, dwelling on their touching beauty and the 
tender piety that breathes in every line — 

“ Darker and darker fall aronnd 
The shadows from the pine, 

It is the hour with praise and prayer 
To gather round thy shrine. 

“ Hear ns, sweet Mother ! thou hast knowp 
Our earthly hopes and fears, 

The bitterness of mortal toil, 

The teudertfess of leaira.” 


854 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

A knock was heard at the front door, and Nancy’s 
Blip-shod feet were heard in the hall as she went to 
open it. Rose, hoping it might he Mr. Brodigan and 
Borne of his family, opened the parlor door a little 
way and looked out, but drew back when she saw in 
the dim light a strange gentleman for whom Nancy 
had just opened the door. The next moment Nancy 
was heard to utter a loud scream, then ran into the 
parlor at full speed, and to the surprise of every one 
caught Miss Ackland by the arm, and gasping for 
breath, tried to speak, but could not, her eyes start- 
ing from their sockets, fixed wildly on the door. 

“ Dear me ! Nancy, what is the matter?” said Miss 
Ackland ; “ is there anything wrong ?” 

“ What have you seen ?” cried Rose, who, with 
Maddalena, was almost as frightened as Nancy her- 
self. 

“ I will go and see what it is,” said Giacomo, but 
just then a wild scream burst from Nancy’s ashy lips, 
tnd, pointing to the door, she cried — 

“ There — there he is !” and she crouched in a cor- 
ner behind her mistress, unheeded by any one, for 
all eyes were turned towards the open door, where a 
man of gentlemanly appearance and of middle age 
stood regarding the astonished group with a smiling 
countenance. 

“ My father !” cried Giacomo and Maddalena in a 
breath. 

“Your father?” cried Miss Ackland; “good God! 
it is Ralph Melville!” Her head swam, her brain 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 855 

burned and she would have fallen senseless and mo- 
tionless to the floor had not Rose been near enough 
to catch her in her arms. Hastily disengaging him- 
self from Maddalena’s fond embrace, the Signor Mel- 
ville, as we shall yet call him, approached, and, tak- 
ing Miss Ackland in his arms, laid her gently on a 
sofa, then watched her with tender interest, while 
Rose and Maddalena applied restoratives. 

Meanwhile Nancy rose, and, with the lightness of 
twenty years before, darted up to the new arrival, 
and, taking him by the arm, looked up in his face, 
every feature of her own working convulsively. 

“So you’re not dead, after all, Captain dear? It 
isn’t your ghost, at all, that’s in it ?” 

“No, Nancy, my old acquintance! I am not dead, 
nor is it my ghost you see, any more than I see 
yours. But let us attend to your mistress.” 

“ Mushin’ thank God she’s beginnin’ to come to,” 
said Nancy; “ ah ! poor Miss Lyddy ! sure if joy ’id 
kill any one she’d never come to, at all ! The Lord 
be praised ! the Lord be praised ! An’ me sayin’ the 
Rosary for his soul every night of my life, sure !” 

When Miss Ackland, heaving a deep sigh, at last 
opened her eyes, the first object on which they fell 
was Ralph Melville, the lover of her youth, the 
mourned of her riper years, the dream of her life, 
kneeling on one knee beside her, holding her hand in 
his, and watching with eager anxiety the gradual 
return of life and consciousness to her languid frame. 
She looked at him a moment, at him only, then closed 


356 


TUB OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


her eyes again without an effort to speak, as though 
fearing that the blissful vision might vanish, as s<S 
many others had done before. But the sound of her 
name, spoken in the old familiar tones that had haunt- 
ed her heart all those dreary years like a funeral dirge, 
and the pressure of the hand that she had never 
hoped to feel again, assured her that now, at least, 
her imagination had not deceived her, that she saw, 
and heard, and felt Ralph Melville, his very self, a 
creature cf flesh and blood, though how he came to 
be still in the flesh was yet a mystery. He had risen 
and now stood looking down on her with his own 
old smile. 

Bending down, he touched her forehead with his 
lips, “ for the first time, Lydia !” he said in a tremulous 
voice, “ but you will pardon it now, will you not ?" 
She smiled, as he whispered, “Are you now con- 
vinced ?” He turned then to embrace his children, 
holding Maddalena longest in his arms, and holding 
up her face to see whether she was changed. 

Rose had timidly withdrawn herself from the little 
circle around the sofa, and stood with Haney con- 
templating the group with tearful eyes. Haney was 
in ecstacies, making all sorts of odd gesticulations, 
occasionally giving vent to her overflowing delight in 
a manner peculiar to herself — “ Oh ! the darlin’ the 
darlin’ ! isn't it new life to see him again ! Look at 
him now ! didn’t I often tell you what he was. Miss 
Rosey dear ?” 

“ But you weren’t quite so glad to see him when he 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


357 


same to the door !” Rose said, smiling through her 
tears; she, too, was watching Ralph Melville with 
admiring eyes, her heart glowing with sympathetic 
joy. She kept looking from him to her aunt, and 
from her aunt to him, scarcely daring to credit the 
evidence of her senses that they were again together 
in life and health as she saw them then. But she was 
not left long to her own thoughts, for Mr. Melville 
cast his eyes around as if seeking some one else, and 
Giacomo taking her hand drew her forward, smiling 
and blushing as she was. 

“ Father !” said the young man “ you have forgot- 
ten Rose — our Rose !” and he glanced at Maddalena, 
who said in her eager, childish way — 

“ Yes, indeed, brother ! our Rose — our own, own 
Rose !” And she laughingly pushed Rose into her 
father’s arms, saying — ‘‘ There, il mio padre^ there is 
another child for you.” 

Mr. Melville looked at Giacomo and smiled. 
“ With all my heart !” said he, “ had she nothing but 
her name to recommend her, she would be thrice 
welcome to me — but she is more than an Ackland, 
she is worthy of the name, — as I know from the hold 
she has gained on the hearts of my children. She is 
handsome, Lydia !” he said, turning to Miss Ackland, 
^ but not at all like you.” 

“ Not half so handsome!” put in Rose, regarding 
her aunt with a look of proud affection, at which 
Ralph Melville smiled ; he was probably of the same 
opinion. Miss Ackland, now quite recovered, yet 


868 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


Btill pale with wonder, sat motionless, with her eyes 
fixed on him who really seemed to her as one risen 
from the dead. 

Can it be possible, Ralph,” she said at length, 
‘‘ that after all the long years during which you were 
mourned as dead, I see you still alive ? It seems 
hard to realize it.” 

“ An’ us prayin’ for him, Miss Lyddy ! an’ doin’ 
everything we could for his poor sowl !” 

At this every one laughed, and Mr. Melville said — 

My poor soul had need of your prayers, Nancy I 
even though it was still in the body, and I hope it 
benefitted by them, too ! But you must have been 
sadly discouraged, I fear, to find my poor soul still 
v/andering on earth after you had been full twenty 
years praying for its repose.” 

“ No, I wasn’t discouraged,” said Nancy stoutly, 

I only prayed the harder.” 

“ But how was it, father,” said Giacomo very se- 
riously, “ that Miss Ackland really saw, or supposed 
she saw you, several weeks ago, on the esplanade in 
front of the hall-door ? Were you here, then ?” 

“ Certainly not ; this is the first time in three-and- 
twenty years that I set foot about this house, or in 
the town of Drogheda.” 

“ It must have been your fetch, then,” said Miss 
Ackland gravely, “ for I see you no plainer now than 
I saw you then.” 

“ What it was, Lydia, that took my shape and 
form, I cannot say,” he replied ; “ I only know that I 


THE OLD HOUSE BT THE BOYNE. 


359 


?ras not here in person — though in spirit I well might 
have been,” he added in a tone meant only for her 
own ear. 

“ Oh Lord I” groaned Nancy from her corner, “ if 
I had only known — if I had only known that the poor 
dear Captain wasn’t dead, at all, wouldn’t it have 
given me an aisy mind, anyhow ?” 

“ So, father,” said Giacomo, “ I can now under- 
stand the strange attraction I found in Miss Ack- 
land.” 

“ How do you mean, my son ?’* 

Why it always seemed to me as if I had seen or 
known her a long time ago ; now I know that it was 
because I had seen her portrait in your private desk 
when I was a little child.” 

“ You saw it, then ?” said his father with a start. 
Yes, father, I may now confess it, and the face 
haunted me ever after, hence, as I suppose, the be- 
fore unaccountable feeling of curiosity, with which 
I used to regard Miss Ackland, wondering, as it were, 
why I did so.” 

“ My dear Giacomo,” said Miss Ackland, “ I am 
glad to find tliat we were mutually interested in each 
other. I had never seen your portrait, nor was it 
your features that reminded me of one whom I sup- 
posed k)Dg dead,” and she glanced at his father, “ but 
there was that in your voice and in your smile that 
brought him constantly before me. Even Mabel no- 
ticed the resemblance there. You remember Mabel 
Ralph ?” 


360 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


“ Indeed I do ! — poor Mabel I is she still alive ?” 

“ I can barely say she is ; her race is almost run. 
But it will give her new life to see you once again 
before she dies, and to see us together as of old.” 

“ Shall we not go soon to see her — you and I ?” 

“ To-morrow as early as you will.” 

“ Then you were not born in Italy, father ?” said 
Maddalena. 

“ No, my child, I was bom here in Ireland. Miss 
Ackland can tell you why I left it.” 

“ But our name is an Italian one, surely !” said Gi- 
acomo, hesitatingly. 

“An Italianized French one,” replied his father 
with a grave smile — “ Melville, you know, is a purely 
French nime — one of those brought into these 
islands by our Norman ancestors; it was easy chang- 
ing it into the Italian Malvili when one desired to 
change their identity.” 

“ And you desired to change yours,” said Miss Ack- 
land with strong emotion, “ in order to punish one 
whom you supposed had wronged you.” 

“ No, no, not to punish, Lydia ! surely not to pun- 
ish, for I had no reason to suppose that my appear- 
ance or disappearance was of any importance what- 
ever to the person in question.” 

“And now?” 

Mr. Melville paused a moment, during which ho 
and Miss Ackland regarded each other in silence; 
then he replied — “ That I am now of a somewhat 


TUE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


861 


different opinion is, I think, sufficiently manifest from 
the fact of my being here.” 

“ Who enlightened you on that head ?” 

“ My brother !” 

“ What, Guy ! — Major Melville ?” 

“ Precisely.” 

An exclamation of surprise here burst slmult^ 
neously from Giacomo and Maddalena, “ Major Mel- 
ville our uncle !” — “ Is it possible ?” 

Rose only smiled, which Giacomo noticing, said — 
“ This news does not seem to surprise you. Rose, as 
it does us.” 

“ Certainly not; I have known for some time that 
Major Melville was the brother of the Captain Mel- 
ville whom my aunt had known in her younger 
days ” 

“ And of whose perturbed spirit you and Nancy 
were so much afraid.” 

“ And Maddalena, too. Aunt Lydia I— were you ne t 
afraid of the gliost, Maddalena ?” 

Maddalena blushed, looked at her father and hung 
her head, but made no answer. Her father tapped 
her glowing cheek with his finger, and said — “ Never 
mind, mia carhsima^ you did not suppose it was 
your father’s ghost, else, I am sure, you would not 
have been so much afraid of it.” 

Nancy was here dispatched to the kitchen to com- 
mence preparations for supper, a meal seldom taken 
in that house, at least for many years past. “ Miss 
Rose shall go by and by to assist you,” Miss Ack- 


362 


TUK OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


land whispered, “ but go now, — you shall have time 
enough to look at Captain Melville.” Nancy betook 
herself to her task with such alacrity as she had not 
shown for many a long year past. 

“ Dear me !” said Maddalena, “ only to think that 
it was Major Melville who caught us the other day 
at Mellifont when we fell from those old steps. Was 
not that strange ?” 

“I was just thinking so,” replied Miss Ackland ; 
“ if the Major knew who you were, how delighted he 
must have been.” 

“ Oh ! he knew me, I am sure, for I was quite 
ashamed to see how he looked at me. I thought it 
was very strange.” 

“ But I did not,” Miss Ackland said, “ although I 
noticed it at the time. No one who had ever seen 
your father could fail to be struck by your likeness to 
him. Did you know, Ralph, that your daughter re- 
sembled you so much ?” 

“ Oh yes ! I have been often told so, and I was 
inclined to suspect them of flattery who said so, but 
since you have discovered the likeness I am to suppose 
that it exists. Giacomo rtsembles his mother,” he 
added after a pause, “ not in disposition, though, for 
in that respect,” and he smiled — “ I believe he is more 
like me, w^hereas Maddalena is her mother in all save 
her Irish face.” 

“ Then her mother must have been a dear, sweet, 
creature,” said Miss Ackland, patting Maddalena’s 
hand which rested on the arm of her chair. 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


363 


She was so,” said Mr. Melville, with perfect com- 
posure, “ she was very amiable, and deserving of all 
affection.” 

“ More than you had to give her,” said Giacomo to 
himself, and a cloud gathered on his brow as ho 
thought of the strange dislike his mother had for 
Drogheda, a place she never saw. That dislike was 
not without some foundation, as the young man now 
understood, but how his mother came to suspect any 
former attachment on the part of her husband, or 
what her reasons were, was what he could not com^ 
prehend. It never occurred to him, what was really 
the case, that his father was, at that period of his 
life, given to talking in his sleep, and that it was, con- 
sequently, from his own lips she had learned a secret 
which had much disturbed her placid mind, till the 
salutary counsels of her spiritual director, and the 
supernatural grace drawn from the frequent recepticn 
of the Sacraments, had gradually restored her equa- 
nimity by raising her thoughts and her affections far 
above the creatures of earth. But all this being 
known only to the good father Rinolfi was never to 
be heard by mortal ear, and was as dead to her little 
world as the gentle Laura herself. 

“ I see you are surprised at all this, my dear chil- 
dren,” said Mr. Melville, “ and long to know how it 
happened that I first went to reside in Leghorn, how 
I came to change my name, and leave those who had 
known me in earlier life under the impression that I 
was dead. Will you pardon me when I say that I 


S04 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 

do not feel disposed at present to enter upon details 
very painfnl in the recollection 

“ My dear father,” said Giacoma, “ I have no de- 
sire, and I am sure neither has my sister, to hear 
anything from you that it would give you pain to 
tell.” Maddalena’s loving eyes said the same, and 
more, too, and their father, evidently much relieved, 
glanced from one to the other with a look of such 
tender affection that they felt amply repaid for what- 
ever self-denial they had practised. 

A few minutes after Rose all of a sudden started 
up, and asked Maddalena to go with her to tlie 
schoolroom to arrange something there for the 
morning. Giacoma offered his services, too, and the 
three young people left the room together. 

It was then that Ralph Melville first gave expres- 
sion to the joy that filled his heart on meeting again, 
after so many years of separation, her whom he 
had loved with the heart’s first pure and warm affec- 
tion. 

“ I know all, Lydia!” said he, “ Guy has written it 
all to me, and 1 find it hard to forgive myself for 
all I have unwittingly made you suffer. Nothing 
hut the' strong assurance I received of your conti- 
nued remembrance of me could have induced me to 
make my existence known to you.” 

Tears were now flowing from Miss Acklaud’s 
downcast eyes ; she was silent, and when Mr. Mel- 
ville seated himself beside her, and took her hand in 
his, he felt it cold and tremblin". 

* O 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


365 


“ I fear you are growing faint again/' he said 
tenderly. 

“No, no, I am quite strong.” 

He looked at her pale and agitated features, and 
smiled. “ Will you forgive me, then ?” he asked. 

“ Yes, I will, Ralph !” Miss Ackland said in a faint 
voice; “if you left me all those dark years in igno- 
rance of your existence, I am to suppose that it was 
because you thought me indifferent as to your fate. 
But oh ! if you only knew what I suffered from re- 
morse of conscience whilst imagining that my silly 
pride and petulance in withholding an explanation 
had been the cause of your destruction ! Oh Ralph ! 
when I think of that !” 

“ Poor Lydia ! the story is written here all too 
plainly,” and he laid his hand on her head, where the 
silver hairs not of age but of care and sorrow were 
already mingling with the golden brown of other 
days. “ How can I ever make amends for all you 
have suffered on my account ? ’ 

“ I am more ihan repaid by the joy of seeing you, 
of hearing your voice, when I had so long believed 
you dead, and indirectly, if not directly, through my 
fault. But you have not told me, Ralph, liow you 
escaped — or were you really on board when your 
ship w ent down ?” 

“ I was,” he replied with a sudden change cf man- 
ner ; “ I was on board.” 

“ And h >w were you saved ?” 

“ When all except myself had been washed away 


366 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


from the deck, or drowned below in the water that 
filled every part of the sinking slap, I gave myself 
up for lost, and began to pray, with such fervor as I 
never prayed before ; I particularly invoked the 
Blessed Virgin, beseeching her to save me.” 

‘‘You did?’’ said Miss Ackland, catching his arm, 
and looking anxiously into his face. “ And what 
followed ? Go on, llalph, go on !” 

‘^Jast at that moment the black clouds opened 
above my head, and a star, a bright, glittering star 
appeal ed in its lonely beauty ; I hailed it as the Star 
of the Sea, — and I said from my heart — Ave Maris 
b'tellay ora pro me I Strengthened as it were by a new 
hope, I lashed myself to a spar, and finding the ves- 
sel sinking, in the name of Mary I committed myself 
to the deep.” 

“ My God ! what a fearful alternative !” 

“ I had no other. I knew the day would soon 
dawn, and trusted to our blessed Mother to send 
0ome vessel that way in time to save me.” 

“ A nd it happened so ?” 

“ Yes, I had been some two hours floating on the 
surface of the sea, now gradually becoming calm, — 
f.»r the storm had subsided, — when a vessel came so 
near that I was seen from the deck, and a boat being 
immediately sent out, I was rescued from my perilous 
position, just as my strength and consciousness were 
both beginning to fail.” 

“ So it was the Blessed Virgin who saved you ?” 
cried Miss Ackland, radiant with joy ; “ and your 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 367 

prayers and mine were not in vain. Do you know, 
Ralph, when I heard of your having sailed that sad 
day, I specially recommended you to her powerful 
protection, and you see you were inspired to do the 
same. Oh Ralph ! how much do we owe that tender 
Mother ! — shall we not love and serve her always ?” 

“ I have endeavored to do so ever since then,” said 
Melville, deeply touched by this new proof of the af- 
fection he had once so blindly, so fatally doubted. 
“ But how little I knew, while buffeting the waves 
that night, that you were praying for me — that your 
loving solicitude followed me. Oh ! Lydia, had I but 
known — had some consoling spirit revea’ed it to me 
then, how many years of sorrow and suffering it 
would have saved us both — from what bitterness of 
heart, what misanthropic feeling towards my fellow- 
creatures it would have saved me !” 

“ Well I we must not murmur against the will of 
God ! — those dark days of trial and of tribulation 
were for us days of grace, and out of their blackness 
has broken the sun of our present happiness.” 

“ But you do not ask me,” said Melville after a 
pause, during which he had been regarding her with 
a look of ineffible affection, “ you do not ask me how 
I came to ” 

“ To forget me !” 

‘‘ iSTo, not exactly that ; I never forgot you in the 
ordinary sense of the word, although the feelings 
with which I did remember you were certainly of too 
bitter and resentful a kind to be painful to my wife. 


368 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


did she but know of them. The vessel wliich had 
picked me up was from London, happily bound for 
Civita Yecchia, and thence I proceeded immediately 
to Leghorn. I resolved to give up the nautical pro- 
fession, and quietly settle down to the pursuit of 
commerce. My mother had died, as you know, 
some time before, my sister was in her novitiate with 
the Sisters of Mercy in Dublin, and there was only 
my brother Guy to occupy my thoughts. So I wrote 
to him an account of my providential escape, informing 
him at the same time that I did not wish to have it 
known, least of all to your family. I asked him what I 
could do to serve him, and he stated in his answer that 
if I could obtain him a commission he would like the 
profession of arms better than anything else. So I 
managed to purchase the commission for him ; he 
came to Leghorn to see me before joining his regi- 
ment, which was then stationed at Gibraltar, and we 
spent some pleasant weeks together, at least as plea- 
sant as I could have in my then frame of mind. I 
soon after obtained a junior partnership in an old and 
respectable firm, and under the name of Malvili em- 
barked on a new career. One of the partners, Signoi 
Salvati, had a young and handsome daughter, Laura 
by name, who being an only child and heiress to her 
father’s large fortune, was, of course, much sought 
after.” 

‘‘ The old story,” said Miss Ackland with a melam 
choly smile : 


THE OLD HOUSE Bt THE BOYNE. 


369 


" My father lived beside the Tyne, 

A wealthy lord was he, 

And all his wealth was mark’d as mine, 

He had but only me.” 

" And, of course, 

“ Among the rest young Edwin bow’d.” 

And she bowed to Melville with something like the 
sportive grace that had first charmed his heart. 

Ralph Melville smiled, his own old radiant smile, 
as he replied — “ There you are mistaken, Lydia ! I, 
at least, bowed not there, nor yet ‘ spoke of love.’ ” 

“ How, then, did you win your rich and lovely 
bride ?” 

“ That I cannot tell you ; unless it were because I 
did not pay my court to her.” 

“ I do not quite understand you ; pray explain 
yourself.” 

“ I will, since you desire it, though I had rather 
not. You must know, then, Lydia, that the Signor 
Salvati himself proposed to me the union with his 
daughter ” 

“ Indeed ?” 

“ Yes, indeed, and his motive will surprise you. ^ 
He broadly hinted, too broadly as I thought, that his 
child, his Laura ” 

“ Loved you ?” 

“ That was what he intimated, and so plainly that 
I could not choose but understand him. The old 
man seemed to suppose that I, too, had been making 
love to Laura. Astounded as I was what could I 
say ? what could I do ?” 


370 


THE OLD norSE BY THE BOYNB. 


“ What did you say aud do ?” 

“ For a moment I scarce knew what to say, but 
presently came the recollection of your supposed 
heartlessness; then I reflected that whilst you had 
rejected all the earthly love I had to offer, Laura 
Salvati had given me hers unasked, unsought ; I knew 
she was good, gentle, pious, and I resolved to make 
her my wife, trusting that the love I could not feel 
then would come in time.” 

There was a quick decision about his way of telling 
all this, a business-like sort of dispatch that no other 
but Lydia Ackland could have understood. It told 
her plainer than words could have done that his heart 
was not interested in the matter of which he spoke, 
only his reason and his judgment. 

“ Oh Ralph !” she could not help saying, and she 
bowed her head on her hands. Melville was silent 
for a few moments, then he said : 

“ Lydia ! I speak of what is long past ; hear me 
patiently, I have little more to tell.” He went on 
in the same quick way : “ I married Laura ; we lived 
with her father till the old man’s death, some five 
years after our marriage, when Giacomo was four 
years old, and Maddalena two. Soon after that, my 
gentle wife began to droop and fade away like a 
blighted flower, and so she drooped and faded till she 
died, although that was not for some four or five 
years later. During all that long time her health 
was broken, her frame enfeebled, and nothing could 
rouse her from the languor that had gradually be- 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 371 

oumbed her faculties. She had never been lively or 
animated, but always rather inclined to melancholy, 
and for the last years of her life a veil seemed to bo 
drawn between her and this nether world, husband, 
children, all, included ; she devoted herself to God, in 
Him lived, and so died, admired, respected, revered 
even by those most nearly connected with her in life, 
but leaving no aching void in the heart such as a 
more variable and impulsive nature, made up of cloud 
and sunshine, is wont to leave behind it when it bids 
farewell to earth, I had nothing to reproach myself 
with in regard to my poor Laura ; I had endeavored 
to. forget, whilst she was my wife, that I had loved 
mother earlier and dearer, one that could have been 
to me what she could never be, — harsh word of mine, 
*or angry look, had never wounded her gentle 
ieart, — so I said to myself in thankfulness to Heaven 
«rhen I laid her in her father’s grave. I then devoted 
fnyself to the education of my children and the care 
^ f my affairs, till, with Heaven’s good aid, I was en- 
abled to retire from business about two years since, 
ftnd enjoy the repose that is so sweet after years of 
assiduous and unremitting application.’' 

He paused, but Miss Ackland remaining silent, he 
resumed: “Little remains for me to tell, though, 
perhaps, the most important of all — to myself, at 
least. You must imagine, for I shall not attempt to 
describe the feelings with which I heard of the 
strange chance that had thrown my dear son on your 
kindness and charity ; of all you did for him ; how I 


372 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


marked the grateful affection he cherished towards 
you. Shall I tell you that it rather displeased me at 
the time, and that I could not feel towards you the 
same gratitude I would have felt towards any othei 
in similar circumstances ?” 

“ I do not wonder at that now, Ralph !” said Miss 
Ackland gently, “ although I did then, for I saw it 
plainly at the time, and was disposed to regard you 
as a reasonably cold-hearted man.” 

Melville smiled, took her hand in his, and went on : 
“ It were superfluous to tell you the little minute cir- 
cumstances that, related by Giacomo from time to 
time, awoke in my mind the idea that I, or you, 
might, after all, have been mistaken — that you did 
love me. Certainty came at length, after Guy's in- 
terview with you ; you may remember that it was 
very soon after that, Maddalena came to you. I 
wished to make her love you, as her brother already 
loved you, and knowing now that both my children 
love you, I have come myself to ask you to be my 
wife, and their mother. I knoxo you love me, my 
heart tells me that you do ; how I love you, I need 
not tell you. It is true, the summer of our life is 
past, but shall we not spend the tranquil autumn to- 
gether, and, if God so wills it, the winter of our age, 
consoling, strengthening each other, bearing each 
other’s burdens, and walking hand in hand lo the 
tomb, then only to part that we may meet again be- 
fore the throne of God to inhabit forever the eternal 
mansions ? Say, Lydia ! shall it not be so ?” 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 373 

Miss Ackland laid her hand in his, and said with 
that smile which had been, and was even now, the 
sunshine of Melville’s heart : 

“ I am old now to be a bride,” said she, “ but if 
you are content to take me as I am, then surely 1 
may be. But I can hardly realize it to myself that 
you are here beside me in very deed, that I am 
still to be your wife! Oh Ralph! how can I be- 
lieve it 

It is possible that Mr. Melville succeeded in con- 
vincing her, for when they joined the young people 
at supper a few minutes after, they all declared that 
she looked ten years younger, and Rose, in her arch 
way, complimented “the dear Captain, as Nancy used 
to call him,” on the wonderful faculty he possessed 
of conjuring up smiles and blushes. 

“ I am happy to know, then, that the faculty is 
hereditary,” said Melville smiling, and glancing at his 
son in a way that covered Rose’s face with blushes. 
“ Ha ! ha ! Miss Rose, I see you understand me ! — ^ 
Will you pardon me if I quote an old proverb to you, 
viz., that those who live in houses of glass should not 
throxo stones. Now for supper, Lydia ! ’ 

Next day Miss Ackland and Mr. Melville went to 
pay their proposed visit to Mabel. Overjoyed as the 
old woman was to see “ the Captain,” she was not 
so surprised as might have been expected. In the 
strange hallucinations to which her mind was subject, 
she had long cherished a dreamy sort of half convic- 
don that he was alive, and would some day return ; 


374 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


she had, from the first, associated Giacomo and him 
in her mind, and not seldom confounded one with 
the other. But the joy was too much for her worn- 
out frame ; that night she died, thanking “ God and 
the Blessed Virgin Mary that she had lived to see 
Miss Lyddy happy.” 

The astonishment of those who had known Cap 
tain Melville, and lamented his supposed death, may 
well be imagined. Major Melville was one of Miss 
Ackland’s first visitors on the following day; he came 
wdth his brother who had paid him an early visit at 
Millmount that morning. Guy was very sincere in 
his congratulations, for, during his short acquaint- 
ance with JMiss Ackland, he had learned to love lier. 
“It was well for me,” he added, with a smile, “ that 
I knew Ralph was still alive, although you did not ; 
else I might have loved you too well for my own 
peace. Now I can truly say that I already love you 
as a sister, and shall be happy to see you the wife of 
my dear, my only brother. But unless I am much 
mistaken we shall have some other weddings in or 
about the same time.” And he looked at Giacomo 
and Rose, to the great confusion of the latter. 

“ I assure you it will not be my fault, uncle, if you 
do not,” said Giacomo, “ that is if my father. Miss 
Ackland, and one other will consent.” 

Of course his father and Miss Ackland were but 
too happy to consent, and the one other made no very 
great objection. So then and there the matter was 


THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 


375 


arranged, only Rose, from some fancy of her own, 
would have it postponed till the early Spring. 

The second week of Kovemher saw the quiet but 
happy union of Ralph Melville and Lydia Ackland 
solemnized by Father O’Regan; the school had been 
given up from the very day after the arrival of the 
former. They went on a short tour and returned in 
a few days, as they were all to remain in Drogheda 
till after Rose’s marriage, then go all together to 
reside in Leghorn, at least for a while. By the time 
appointed for the union of Giacomo and Rose, Captain 
Cornell had persuaded Maddalena to give him her 
hand at the same time and in the same place. Early 
in the winter, the two Brodigan sisters “ were led to 
the altar,” as the newspapers phrase it, by Cueaok 
and Ternan, and who can doubt that they were all 
very happy. At least, if they were not, that you and 
I may, (courteous readers,) as the old story-tellers 
have it 1 








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